


Side By Side

by thejigsawtimess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Blow Jobs in a Car, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Robbery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 60,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejigsawtimess/pseuds/thejigsawtimess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armed robbery. There’s no way out of that one, no way you could blame it on someone else, say you got caught up in something you shouldn’t have. Dean held up a store with a gun and took the money. It’s black and white, cut and dry bad, and Castiel is only mildly horrified at himself for being so aroused by it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, welcome, welcome. Take a seat, get comfy. Just a few notes before we get started:
> 
> This, if you haven't already realised, is a Bonnie & Clyde Dean/Castiel AU fic.  
> That is to say, if you know the story of Bonnie and Clyde, then you know how this fic is inevitably going to go. I gave you a fair warning.  
> I would like to add that I will be taking inspiration from every source available - that includes the film, the actual record of Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow's lives, and of course, the brilliant musical which I may or may not have been listening to the soundtrack of nonstop for around a week. 
> 
> Of course, there have been changes made to the story thanks to the wonder of artistic license, but rest assured I always do my research about such things. 
> 
> Lastly (though I'm sure I'll think of more things I want to add in along the way) I will be slipping in visual aids wherever I can as we're set in the 1930's for the duration of our time together, and let me start you off with these two (oh, you're welcome):
> 
> Dean Winchester (as Clyde): fallforcastiel.tumblr.com/post/54457102006
> 
> Castiel (as Bonnie): fallforcastiel.tumblr.com/post/54458975032
> 
> Most of all, enjoy the fic! I will be updating as often as I can!

  
__  
**You've read the story of Jesse James**  
 **Of how he lived and died;**  
 **If you're still in need**  
 **Of something to read,**  
 **Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.**  


**\- Bonnie Parker, 1934**

_ July 1930 _

There is nothing but heat on this achingly dull July afternoon. Thick, treacly heat, so humid it makes Castiel’s skin crawl; he can feel his shirt clinging to him where his bones jut defiantly through his skin, the beads of sweat creeping down his neck, tickling like omnipresent insects. It’s enough to make anyone sick, so why does nobody else seem to care?

Castiel lifts his head slightly off the wooden counter, his cheek sticking to the warm oak and making him cringe. He glances around the café – ingeniously named Bobby’s Burgers after the owner, who Castiel admits he holds respect for when he informs anyone who asks that he hasn’t the time for thinking up clever names for a damn burger joint. All he sees are the same blithering idiots, as ignorant as they are repulsive in their complacency; their ability to just sit there at their tables, stuffing their mouths, laughing at each other’s stupid jokes while there’s an entire world out there, ready to be explored; it makes Castiel’s teeth clamp together.

The one thing he longs for (more than grabbing the shotgun he knows Bobby keeps in his office and going on a killing spree around this place) is to hop on The T (Lawrence’s own crude version of a bus service) and getting the fuck out of here. He doesn’t even care where anymore. He needs out.

“Oi, chuckles, order up compadre,” sings a voice from behind him, unfathomably perky as usual, and it does nothing for Castiel’s mood. He turns to face Gabriel anyway, sliding off his sweat-dampened stool where he’s been sitting for the past hour, waiting for a customer of any kind to marvel him with their unbelievably bland questions about the menu.

Gabriel is leaning out of the hatch between the kitchen and the order area, his arms jutting through and waggling two plates at Castiel, his eyebrows raised as if to ask what the fuck he’s waiting for. Castiel is so hot and irritable that he practically snatches the plates from his co-worker, and though he knows it would take far more to ruffle Gabriel’s feathers, he still feels a little bad. It’s not like his friend did anything to deserve Castiel’s hostility, he just happens to be a part of life in Kansas. And Castiel hates life in Kansas.

He stalks around the bar, plates in hand, towards the table he knows these particular burgers are for. This is going to do nothing to make him feel any better, because now he’s headed for the one table where there seems to be some kind of world record attempt for the most teenagers being crammed together at one time.

Castiel’s been watching them on and off over the past hour; he knows them all vaguely, they’re the brothers and sisters of people he went to school with, students of Lawrence high school – all of them extremely loud, extremely annoying, and so, so not what Castiel needs right now.

Nevertheless, he walks over and deposits the burgers in centre stage for them, about five pairs of hands immediately attacking from all sides to grab the fries each burger comes with. He gives a grimace, turning to walk away, mildly disgusted as he hears two of them agreeing that these fries are so good they’ll be feeding them to their children. These stupid kids are already signing their life away, resigning themselves to a lifetime of bleak, barren Lawrence without even a second thought.

He shakes his head a little, adjusting his apron, tucking his shirt into it, before he makes his way back to his post.

“Hey- hey Cassy! Didn’t see you there!” A shudder runs through Castiel’s being and he grits his teeth, turning back to the table with reluctance. Sure enough, Balthazar has just reared his head from the midst of the gaggle of teens, his arms around a red headed girl, her bright pink lipstick currently smeared all over his wolfish grin. “Fancy not sayin’ hello hot stuff, I’m hurt.”

It’s quite impressive really, how long Balthazar has kept up this little thing, whatever it is, every damn time he comes into the joint. It’s Castiel’s own fault, truly it is, otherwise he wouldn’t put up with it. If he was a regular guy that hit on Castiel every five seconds, ogled him and objectified him in front of his friends for amusement, Castiel could just tell Bobby and he’d be out on his ass quicker than a blink. But the thing is, Castiel is no saint, and he’s made some mistakes.

Balthazar happens to be one of those mistakes.

It was months ago now, maybe a year in fact, but Castiel had been bored then too, just as bored, just as desperate for something, anything to happen to him. And Balthazar was so charming, so flirtatious, so boyish, and so _deliciously_ underage.

If he’s entirely honest with himself, that’s what tipped him over the edge with Balthazar. The one year difference between legality and possibility of imprisonment if they were caught. Well, that and the obvious fact he’s a _guy,_ but Bobby tends to turn a blind eye to Castiel’s homoerotic inclinations. Seventeen years old, it’s hardly even a real case nowadays, but the threat had always been there during his and Balth’s short time together, and when he dragged the teenager into the cloakroom during his lunch breaks, wrapping the just-the-wrong-side of-legal boy's legs around his waist and fucking him hard and deep against the lockers while he moaned and clung to Castiel for dear life, the thought would linger on his brain. Any moment, someone could walk in, find them, and they’d have to run for it.

Castiel actually shudders a little again at the memory, the leftover tremors of a long-ago thrill washing over him as he meets Balthazar’s gaze as steadily as he can. Of course, he grew tired with the guy quickly and tossed him aside like he does every time, with guys and girls alike. He’s never got the whole ‘relationship’ thing, never understood it when his sexual partners (usually the girls) whispered confessions of love in his ear.

Balthazar has hated him ever since he was dumped, and he gets his revenge like this, by dangling Castiel up in front of his peers like a piece of meat. Castiel knows for sure Balthazar has told them all of their indiscretions, probably embellishing them with all sorts of lies - making Castiel out to be some kind of homosexual predator. He wishes he cared.

“Your ass looks superb in that apron Cassy,” Balthazar says huskily, and the table lets out a unanimous splutter, as if they’re actually trying to hold back their laughter and failing.

“Yes it does,” Castiel agrees sincerely, reaching into the centre of the table and snagging a leftover fry, much to the surprise of Balthazar and the girl (Abby, he thinks absently, recognising her now - perhaps he's seduced her once too) wrapped around him, “such a shame you won’t get another chance with it. Play nice kiddies.”

With that, and a coy wink he knows is going to get him some enemies for life, he spins on his heel and saunters back over to the bar, swaying his hips in an obvious manner and laughing to himself as he chews.

* * *

 

It seems like years before Bobby finally emerges from his office, scratching his head and yawning as if he’s the one that’s been doing Front Of House all day, but Castiel is relieved nonetheless, because the sight of Bobby at this hour usually means they can go home. He’s been ‘mopping’ the pristine floor for around half an hour now – Bobby’s Burgers having been officially closed since five thirty – and he’s been in a state of semi-hysteria simultaneously because he honestly thinks he might go mad if he has to wipe ketchup off one more table.

The sun won’t even let up on its decision to fry the neighbourhood, because it’s July, which means long, hot days and Castiel never gets a break.

“Alright, alright quit you’re mopin’.” Bobby sighs, meandering over to the cash register to check today’s earnings. He pings open the drawer, revealing several bundles of dollar bills all stacked in neat piles. Bobby picks up one pile and starts to count, tilting his head to the side to call through the hatch behind him. “Ya hear that in there too, ya’idgits?”

It takes Gabriel less than a second to poke his head out from the kitchen and into the area where Bobby is standing; he looks a little flushed, his mini white hat slightly askew. “What’s that boss?”

“You can go home, go soak up some o’this godforsaken sun. I dunno, do _somethin’.”_

Gabriel grins, finding Castiel’s eye across the room and winking before he ducks back into the kitchen. Probably for a final make out session with Anna who’s inevitably back there, Castiel thinks wryly, and then he chuckles because Gabriel thinks he’s the only one who’s gotten in her pants. Anna may play the sweet innocent angel card, but everyone Castiel knows can tell him the colour of her bed sheets.

There’s a crash from somewhere in the kitchen, followed by some giggling, muttering and the sound of Gabriel calling ‘I got it, don’t worry!’. Bobby just tuts and shakes his head at the sound, continuing his counting.

“Looks like you’re third-wheeling again tonight boy.”

Castiel sighs because fuck, yeah, he probably is. Gabriel is going to want to take Anna home, and Castiel is just going to have to sit there while they paw at each other, kissing and groping – being generally disgusting. He could always go back home instead of over to Gabriel’s, but he already knows that’s not happening before the thought even forms in his mind. Home is an empty room and an empty bed where he’ll have to sit alone and wait for morning. Wait for another endless day.

“I guess so.” Castiel agrees glumly, and Bobby chuckles at his expression. Castiel stares at the emerald notes flicking between his calloused fingers.

Gabriel and Anna burst out of the kitchen door then. The chef, Rufus, went home long ago, so they’re the last ones in there probably. They’re still giggling like idiots, and Castiel rolls his eyes but carries the mop and bucket to the corner, pulling off his apron so he can follow them out.

“See ya old man!” Gabriel calls as the glass door swings shut behind him, and Anna gasps, swatting at his shoulder for being so rude to their boss. Castiel just spins around and salutes the guy, his gaze dropping once more to all that cash clutched in his big, leathery hands.

Think of what someone could do with all that.

* * *

 

Castiel should make his living as a fortune teller, he really should, and he’s seen old women doing on the side of the road before, so why not? He’s been told time and again he’s pretty enough to pass for a lady, he bets he could do it, cause he’d be spot on with the fortunes, not doubt about it.

Just like he foretold (only to himself, admittedly) exactly how this evening would go. They arrived at Gabriel’s like they do every day, Anna in tow this time, which she’s not always, and almost immediately Gabriel pulled her down the hall and into the living room, sinking onto his couch and tugging her on top of him for a kiss.

They’ve stayed in that position pretty much ever since, and Castiel has no choice but to squeeze on the end next to them – a difficult feat considering they take up practically the whole sofa with their wriggling – passing the time by reading the paper on Gabriel’s coffee table. He’s always liked the paper, and that's just one more reason for the folks around him to call him strange; sometimes he likes to imagine that he’s the one the journalists are writing about. It doesn’t matter what the story is, whether he just saved a cat from a tree or got two years in county jail for using a broken bottle in a bar fight – he just likes to imagine it, being the centre of it all like that, having a thousand eyes across the state reading your darkest secrets and assuming they know you flat out.

Maybe he is a little strange, Castiel thinks with  a smile.

“Anna honey," Gabriel moans, his arm brushing against Castiel's as he moves, "what’re you doin’ to me girl?”

Castiel shoves a finger in his ear.

“Ugh, Gabe, don’t make me gag you again.”

Castiel balks a little at that, and can’t help the splutter that escapes his lips. Who knew? Anna is apparently a domineering little minx in the bedroom; she certainly hadn’t done any kinky stuff when they’d got together.

Then again maybe it’s Gabe who prefers the rougher stuff? Maybe he gets Anna to go along with it, play the domineering woman, pin him down etc. Well, each to their own, Castiel thinks, though they’d better not be getting past second base with him right beside them.

Before he knows it, two angry faces are glaring at him, their session interrupted by Castiel’s laughter. He holds his hands up in surrender and places the newspaper carefully back down on the table.

“Hey, hey, I was readin’ the comics honest! Nothin’ funny bout you two.” Castiel says, as sincerely as he can manage. He assesses the hostility on both their faces and deduces that Gabriel is more likely to be reasonable in this situation. He turns his attention to his friend. “Listen bro, you guys wanna be alone for a bit I’m guessin’, why don’t I go make us some hot chocolate?”

“Yeah _bro,_ I think that’s a mighty good idea.” Gabriel replies through his teeth, looking very much like he wants to skin Castiel alive for interrupting him. “You know where everythin’ is.”

Castiel nods, hiding a smirk, and gets up before he gets himself in more trouble. Honestly, he never knows where he stands with Gabriel. One minute, the guy’s his best friend, the guy he’s known since kindergarten, who he bunked off school with, earning themselves a reputation as the town rebels - and the next he’s blowing him off for some chick!

It was nothing really, all that 'rebel' stuff they used to get hurled at them a lot. It's just that Gabriel used to understand, used to feel the same way Castiel did about the claustrophobia, the imprisonment of this town, this life. Together they’d cook up endless schemes to fend off the boredom, playing pranks on their teachers and neighbours (Castiel’s personal favourite was tying helium balloons to Mrs Mosely’s lawn chair… while she was asleep in it) planning their inevitable escape from it all one day. Somewhere along the way Gabriel changed. Maybe he saw some merit at last in the family business his brothers are always trying to get him into. Maybe he saw a pretty ring in the jewellers and giving it to Anna suddenly seemed like a really great idea. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t seem so motivated about getting out any more.

Castiel doesn’t care; he can go on his own. He’s just waiting for… some cash. And the heat to fuck off. Then he’ll head out on his own, yeah. He doesn’t need Gabriel, really, he doesn’t.

Castiel knows for a fact that Anna doesn’t like him one bit, and he wishes he could find it in himself to care about that. The truth is, in his eyes Anna is just another mindless girl, destined for a life as a dull, vapid housewife, and yeah sure he hooked up with her once or twice to drive away the relentless monotony of his life, but that’s as far as it goes.

He’s already in the kitchen when he hears the front door opening. Footsteps and voices echo down the hall and Castiel hears them in the living room as he clatters about with the pots, looking for a saucepan to heat the milk.

“Wahey! Little brother! Gettin’ some action at long last?”

Castiel grins to himself as he fiddles about with the hob. He knows the voice, it’s Michael, Gabriel’s brother, and he can only imagine the horrified, pissed off look on Gabriel’s face right now. Michael is not exactly the kindest of siblings, and with Anna here, he’s bound to dial up the cruelty to the maximum level, just to embarrass Gabe.

He grabs the milk out of the fridge, a cool, smooth, shapely bottle. It feels so nice in his palm that Castiel presses it to his neck, basking in the cold, a relief from the heat at last.

Who’s idea was it to make hot chocolate in this weather again?, Castiel thinks as he tips a little over half the pint of milk into the pan. He thinks it might have been his idea, and then he feels like an idiot. Oh well, no use stopping now. Maybe they can put the drinks in the fridge – cold chocolate? Is that a thing?

There’s another voice too, filtering into the kitchen from underneath the closed door. This one is softer and deeper, laughing along with Michael’s taunting, and muttering things too low for Castiel to hear from the next room. It must be one of Michael’s friends, and Castiel is mildly intrigued. Then again, he knows everyone in this damn town, no face that resides in Lawrence will hold much intrigue for long.

“Fuck off Michael, can’t you go upstairs?” Gabriel spits, and he sounds pissed off, Castiel was right. He smirks to himself, hunting through the cupboards for chocolate powder.

“Aw, now that’s no way to treat your big brother is it?” Says the other voice, a playful attitude rippling over his gravelled tone. Castiel nearly drops the jar he’s holding; that voice is definitely brand new, and he’s suddenly all kinds of curious. The milk starts to bubble in the pan. “Don’t mind us, we’re just here to relax.”

There’s no reply from Gabriel, and Castiel curses him, because replies mean that the mysterious stranger might say something else, and the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck might stand on end again. Then again, maybe the stranger is so breathtaking, so perfect, so wonderful that Gabriel has been stunned to silence?

Castiel’s wooden spoon is frozen in the pan mid-stir, and he strains to hear more.

“Gabe, baby, can _we_ go upstairs?” Castiel hears Anna asking at length, and the moaning sound Gabriel makes in response is enough to make Castiel cringe in sympathy. In front of his _brother_ for Christ’s sake. And that other man, whoever he is.

He turns back to the saucepan, deducing immediately that he’s poured too much chocolate powder into the concoction whilst being distracted, so he reaches for the milk bottle on the counter nearby.

His hands are slippery with sweat, just from the anticipation of being introduced to someone _new_ after all this time. Someone with a voice like starch, and a sense of humour that can match his and Michael’s. Castiel would like to say that this, his sweat-slicked fingers, is the reason he dropped the bottle of milk to the floor, but he honestly doubts himself. He’s not accident-prone, but his spontaneity and reputation for crazy, thoughtless ideas is renowned throughout Kansas.

The bottle in his hands gleams at him, daring him with its perfect, untarnished shine. He needs chaos, he needs a disruption in this flat, bare horizon stretching ahead. He can’t survive this way, not like everyone else can, content with their ordinary, mundane lives, marrying their childhood friends, getting jobs in the shops in town and working themselves to the grave.

It disgusts him, the whole idea of it, and he knows, he _knows_ that a broken bottle won’t change the path ahead, but the reactions of people in the next room when they hear it shatter will be the most interesting thing that’s happened to him all day, and that’s such a miserable thought he almost wants to cry.

His fingers loosen their grip.

The glass splinters upon contact with the russet floor, sending shards flying out in every direction. They skid across the room, dancing into every crevice and twinkling like stars as the milk seeps out, free of its confines. It pools and dribbles across every brick until there’s a huge puddle of white in the centre of the floor, expanding with every second, creeping outwards inch by inch, swallowing up the red bricks one by one.

Castiel doesn’t move; his eyes fixed on the kitchen door.

“What the hell’s goin’ on in the kitchen?!” Michael cries out, and Castiel hears people getting to their feet.

“Mike, it’s just Cas, he’s-”

“I’ll skin ‘im alive if he’s trashin’ the place-”

“Hold on, I’ll see what’s up.”

The voice, that last voice, it’s the one Castiel had been hoping for. He smiles to himself, the milk swimming in rivulets round his feet. It’s a good thing he’s still wearing his shoes. A few moments pass, and then the door opens, revealing the most beautiful man Castiel has ever seen.

His sandy hair is gelled flat and parted, sticking up a little at the front in a signature design, revealing his smooth, angular features, unshaven square jaw, and two brilliantly green eyes. He’s dressed smartly, too smartly for this town, in a black suit and silk shirt, even a tie – and in this weather too! A cigarette dangles unlit from his lips, so full and pink they’re almost girlish, Castiel thinks, though he’s one to talk.

The man’s eyes are fixed on the mess on the floor of the kitchen, not even registering Castiel at first. He tuts around his cigarette twice, shaking his head and smirking as he assesses the damage.

“Well well, what happened here?”

Castiel is never one to be rendered speechless - he finds the idea of shyness quite bemusing if he’s honest - but this man has quite honestly left him dumbstruck, and he finds himself unable to do more than swallow thickly, searching his brain for the answer to this question.

When he doesn’t immediately answer, he finds himself locked in place by two eyes so green that Castiel swears they’d render emeralds dull and lifeless. The man looks amused at Castiel’s inability to respond at first, but seconds of silence tick by, and his expression seems to change as he properly takes in the sight of him. As the two of them stand there, the smell of hot chocolate filling the air of the kitchen, clouding the space between them, thick and sweet, his expression changes to one of thoughtfulness.

“You do this?” He asks, more softly now, gesturing slightly towards the mess with a gentle incline of his head. Castiel nods, his hands going back to clutch at the rim of the cooker of their own accord.

He shakes himself as the man steps closer, dragging his eyes away at last. The stranger bends over, inspecting the damage, and Castiel tells himself to get it together. This is the most interesting thing that’s rolled into town in weeks, months even, and he’ll be damned if he lets it slip through his fingers because the man was too _good-looking_ for him to function.

Castiel hops over the spillage, darting towards the sink and grabbing a dishcloth before sinking to the floor, beginning the process of mopping up the liquid. The stranger is still crouched low, looking at him pensively and Castiel lets his eyes flick up, peering at him through his lashes.

“I was making hot chocolate.” Castiel explains, his voice tumbling out in a rush, and he smiles sheepishly at his own mistake. He takes a breath, steadying himself. “I guess I could use some practice.”

The stranger grins then, taking the unlit cigarette from his lips and sticking it behind his ear. “Hot chocolate, huh? Man, it’s been a while since I had hot chocolate.”

Castiel smiles at him, leaning forwards in the pretence of reaching further for mopping purposes. “I got some left over if you want?”

The man is quiet for a few drawn out seconds, his gaze travelling along the length of Castiel’s body while he scrubs the floor, but eventually he smiles widely. “Sure, won’t say no. Smells great so I bet it’s awesome.”

“It would’ve been more ‘awesome’ if I’d managed to keep hold of the rest of the milk.”

“Ah, don’t be too hard on yourself. And hey, no use cryin’ right?”

Castiel turns to him as they both stand, smiling at the pun, and the man winks. Castiel’s stomach flips violently. “What’s your name?” He blurts before he can stop himself, and the guy steps so close that Castiel can smell the cologne on him. Spicy and full, like an aged whiskey. Divine.

“Winchester. Dean Winchester.” He murmurs, low and quiet, and Castiel’s heart stops for a beat or two. They’re back against the counter, side by side, and Castiel’s still holding a dirty, sodden dishcloth, and the pan is bubbling over on the stove, but none of it seems to matter. For some reason Castiel thinks this might be the most important moment of his life.

“I’m Castiel. Nice to meet you Dean.” He tries to say it as flirtatiously as possible, but knows he fails. Dean smirks at him anyway, like he knows Castiel is trying to impress him.

“You don’t got a last name?” Dean asks, and he plucks the cloth from Castiel’s hand, chucking it behind them towards the sink. The floor’s still wet, Castiel can feel it, and every time he shifts glass crinkles under his toes.

“I-I don’t know it. No one ever told me.”

“Huh. Well, you don’t need one. Not unless you wanna marry some girl and let her have it.”

Castiel’s cheeks burn and he’s not sure why. He looks away though, noticing the pan frothing on the stove and feeling his stomach drop. “Shit!”

Dean laughs at him as he runs to remove the saucepan, his eyes following intently as Castiel slip-slides with the pan over towards the sink. “I was wonderin’ when you were gonna deal with that.”

Castiel flushes again, because that means that Dean noticed the pan, noticed that Castiel had been too caught up in their conversation to remember it himself, and that’s more than a little embarrassing.

“You could’ve told me!” Castiel cries, a little annoyed, and he grabs two mugs from Gabriel’s cupboard above the sink, pouring the remainder of the hot chocolate sloppily into each one.

“Aw, and ruin the fun? Not a chance, Cas.”

Castiel stops, placing the pan back down in the sink to cool off as he tries to stay cool about the fact Dean just gave him a nickname. But hey, he needs a little payback, and this Dean guy looks like he hasn’t been embarrassed for a good while.

“Cas, huh?” Castiel grins at him mischievously, holding out a mug for Dean as he sips his own frothy mixture.

Dean blushes a little, Castiel sees it, and he pounces on the fact at once, chuckling. “Oh, uh, yeah, I dunno… Cas just seems…uh-”

“No, no I like it.” Castiel assures him, cutting him off mid-ramble, and Dean looks mildly relieved when he takes the mug from Castiel’s fingers at last. “Better than _Cassy,_ ugh.”

Dean chuckles at his screwed up expression, taking his first sip. He doesn’t spew it all over the floor, so Castiel is satisfied. “Well then I solemnly swear to never call you Cassy, as long as we both live. Cas it is.”

“As long as we both live? That’s potentially a long time, Dean.”

“Yeah, and so if I gotta spend it with you, I don’t wanna have that expression ruinin’ that face, do I?”

Castiel tilts his head slightly at that, a little taken aback at what Dean just said so casually. Dean looks a little pink-cheeked again, but Castiel suspects that’s due to the fact he unwittingly told a near stranger that he likes his face just now.

The thing that’s getting Castiel’s mind reeling is the fact that Dean just basically considered the idea of spending his life with Castiel as a viable option, simply after knowing him five minutes.

“Why would you wanna spend your life with me?” Castiel asks, genuinely curious, and Dean takes a gulp of his drink before replying. His eyes swivel to Cas’s, glinting, and he smirks, licking his lips.

“You’re different.”

“How so?” Castiel presses, stepping towards him because he preferred it when they were mere inches apart.

Dean takes a step too, and Castiel realises he made a huge error, because he can’t possibly concentrate on what this man is saying when he’s this close. Dean leans forwards, so close it’s almost impossible, their noses practically brushing, and he’s still smirking, and Cas can see flecks of chartreuse in those emerald eyes-

“I know you didn’t drop that milk accidentally, Cas.”

Castiel’s heart flutters, splinters, and fucking soars.

* * *

 

“Wait, _what?!_ ” Castiel asks, wiping a tear from his eye as he leans towards Dean disbelievingly. The hot chocolate he’s clutching has long ago gone cold, but he barely notices, he’s too caught up in Dean’s stories, because they can’t possibly be true, there’s no way someone can be this interesting after living just four more years than he has. “You’re a damn liar, I don’t believe a word you say, Winchester.”

They’ve moved onto the couch in the living room now, Gabriel and Anna having disappeared upstairs long ago, though Castiel didn’t even register it. Michael sits in a chair across the room, scowling because his friend has been taken from him, and reading the newspaper Castiel finished with a while ago.

“Oh really?” Dean asks, grinning at Cas, and he sets down his own empty mug on the coffee table, reaching towards his left foot to untie the laces on his shiny black shoe. “Wanna see?”

“No!” Castiel cries before he can stop himself, and Dean falls about laughing at him.

“Y’see? You do believe me, and good thing too cause you should never underestimate a guy like me.”

“But- but _why?_ ” Castiel asks, unable to comprehend such behaviour. “Why would you chop off two of your own toes?!”

“Cause Cas,” Dean begins, his face getting a touch more serious as he re-ties the bow he just loosened, “I was in jail, they were tryin’ to get me to do all kinds of backbreaking work, railway lines and shit y’know? Free labour an’ all that.”

“So chopping off your toes got you out of it?” Cas asks, sounding equal parts horrified and fascinated. Part of him does want to see what Dean’s got under those sparkling shoes.

“Yeah, and then two weeks later I got parole. Funny how life works, innit?” Dean chuckles darkly, pulling the cigarette out from behind his ear at last. “Mind if I smoke?”

“No way.”

“You want one?”

Castiel doesn’t even have to consider it. “Yeah, sure.”

Dean fishes another one, and a matchbook out of his jacket pocket, pausing the conversation to place them both between his lips and light them before handing one to Castiel. Cas wraps his lips around it eagerly, his heart fluttering a little when he feels it’s a little moist at the tip.

“So,” Castiel starts to ask, swallowing down a cough as he inhales and hiding the tears in his eyes, “you’ve got all these prison stories… what did you actually get locked up for? Y’know if it’s not too personal a question.”

Dean laughs, blowing smoke out into the air in front of him. “Too personal? Fuck, they splashed my personal shit all over them crummy papers,” Dean gestures at the one in Michael’s hand, and Castiel marvels – here he was a few hours ago, wondering what’d it be like to be one of those top stories, and Dean actually has been, “nah, I got put away for armed robbery. Nothin’ special.”

Castiel takes another puff on the cigarette, trying not to choke. “Huh.”

Armed robbery. There’s no way out of that one, no way you could blame it on someone else, say you got caught up in something you shouldn’t have. Dean held up a store with a gun and took the money. It’s black and white, cut and dry _bad,_ and Castiel is only mildly horrified at himself for being so aroused by it.

“Well, I dunno mister.” Castiel says at length, and he turns to find Dean studying him, a smile twisting his lips as he puffs on his cigarette, sussing Cas’s reaction. “You could be makin’ the whole damn thing up. Armed robbery indeed, I don’t think you got it in ya.”

“Oh is that right?” Dean’s grinning at him now, his cigarette burned nearly to a stub. “Want me to prove it, do you?”

Castiel’s stomach flips again, and he glances over at Michael, finding him still nose-deep in the newspaper he’s holding, not listening to a word either of them are uttering. Castiel faces Dean and nods defiantly, drawing on his cigarette again as Dean studies him, their faces close, considering each other.

“Alright then.” Dean says eventually, leaning backwards so that Cas can finally breathe. Dean stands up, looks over at Michael briefly and signals for Cas to follow him before he starts towards the door. “C’mon dollface, you wanna see this or not?”

Castiel, momentarily thrown off guard by the casual term of endearment, scrambles to his feet, his cigarette slipping free of his lips in the process, and he burns his fingers catching it before it falls to the floor. It makes Dean chuckle, and Castiel blushes, cursing himself.

He follows close behind Dean as he exits Gabriel’s house, casting a quick, helpless look back at Michael, who’s scowling at them from his chair. Castiel turns away from him, grinning, because Dean Winchester, the enigma that sawed off his own toes and went to jail for armed robbery can surely do better in a friend than _Michael._

Cas isn’t necessarily saying that he’s a better example of a new friend for Dean, but then again, maybe he is. Dean's clearly a man of adventure, in this life for the thrill, and while Castiel hasn't exactly had much experience with that, he yearns for it in a way he's never known anyone else to. Dean strides forwards purposefully, crossing the street with a determined air, and Castiel runs to catch up with him.

“How old are you anyways?” Dean asks, smiling down at him as they walk together, Castiel trying to look nonchalant despite the fact he has no idea where they are headed and people are staring at them as they pass, eyeing the smartly dressed stranger beside the boy who waits tables downtown with a wary eye.

Dean tosses his cigarette, and Castiel does the same. “I-I’m 23 years old, why?”

Dean barks a laugh, making a sharp turn left along the dusty dirt road and catching Cas by surprise. It’s still boiling hot, enough that Cas feels a little lightheaded, and he wonders how Dean can stand to be wearing that suit. Not that he can imagine him in anything else mind, though there’s a thought…

“Right, and how old are you really?” Dean asks again, stopping under the wooden awning outside of a liquor store. They’re in the highstreet now; Castiel hadn’t even noticed. He looks down at his feet, embarrassed as Dean fixes him with a sceptical eye.

“Twenty-one,” Castiel admits, and then he pauses before adding, “it was my birthday last week.”

Dean nods, accepting this answer, and looks thoughtfully at the shop window they’re standing beside. Two young women walk past them, Castiel knows them vaguely from around, and they giggle, whispering together as they pass by Cas and Dean, no doubt agreeing how good the handsome stranger looks in the late afternoon sun. Castiel’s glad the awning is providing some shade from the blistering heat; his shirt is still damp in places, and he wishes he owned a pair of shorts rather than these uncomfortable black pants. Dean turns back to look at him again, thoughtful, squinting slightly. Neither he nor Cas look round as the women walk away.

“Hmm.” Dean says, smiling again at him. The green of his eyes is near impossible in its hue as the sun glints off them, and Castiel is dazzled by it. He’s surely not deserving of such a ponderous gaze. “You’re kinda jailbait, huh?”

Dean leans against one of the wooden pillars, and Castiel grins mischievously at him, surprised by his own confidence. But he wants to impress Dean so very, very badly. “You would know.”

Dean laughs, a flash of white teeth peeking out from between his pinkened lips. “I guess so. Hey Cas, c’mere a sec.”

Cas is momentarily paralyzed with fear, but he swallows it down, telling himself not to be an idiot, especially right now. He steps closer to Dean, definitely abnormally close, and he senses that’s getting to be a thing with them. “Yeah?” He breathes, just close enough to Dean that they’re not actually touching, though Cas thinks he might die from overstimulation anyway.

Dean locks eyes with him and then quickly looks around, seemingly checking if anyone is nearby. Satisfied, he turns back to Cas and pulls one side of his jacket open, revealing a shiny, black, semi-automatic colt, making Cas’s eyes go wide. “What’re you doin’ later, angel?”

Cas is stunned; he sucks in a breath and stares up at Dean’s face, trying to focus on his words rather than the pistol. Had Dean just called him an angel? He closes his eyes for a second, willing himself to stay in control. It’s just a gun, just evidence that what Dean has been saying all along is damn well true. He knew he was following a criminal out of the door of Gabriel’s house. Didn’t he?

Cas opens his eyes, finding Dean looking at him, anxious and stern. “Uh… not much, I reckon.”

Dean lets out a sigh of relief, placing his other hand (the one not revealing the gun) on Cas’s shoulder and shaking him as he smiles. “Great. Wait here a minute then.”

Cas nods emphatically, most of his brain focusing on the feel of Dean’s warmth spreading through his shirt and into his skin. Dean turns away, walking towards the liquor store, and Cas pauses, head tilting as he stares after him. “Wait, where are you goin’?”

Dean just spins around, grins at him, winking once, and then he runs into the store. The blood drains from Cas’s face and his heartbeat quickens. He hears commotion from inside, and his eyes glaze, a hysterical bark of laughter bursting free of his lips. Dean wasn’t lying; he’s a criminal, a lawbreaker through and through.

He breaks the rules, robs stores, steals to get by, and Cas will be damned if it isn’t the hottest thing he could even dream of right about now. Complete, utter freedom, that’s what he longs for. That’s what Dean’s got in abundance.

Cas steps backwards, out from under the awning, the sun spilling over him as he stands, mouth agape, staring at the robbery happening right before his eyes. He can’t actually see what’s going on, the window display of every liquor you could dream up is taking care of that, and Cas suddenly realises how clever it was of Dean to select this place, with its obscured windows, its wide open door. This man is a genius, Cas thinks, an evil mastermind. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, laughing again.

There’s a loud, resounding crash, no gunshot, and then Dean’s bursting out of the door, a sackfull of cash under one arm, and a grin the size of the Mississippi stretched across his cheeks. He runs towards Cas, grabbing hold of his wrist before he can process what’s happening, and then he’s being pulled, dragged along behind Dean, both of them sprinting away as fast as they can, kicking up dust behind them.

Cas throws a look over his shoulder as he runs, the adrenaline pumping through him, and it gives Dean’s grip on his wrist a feeling like fire, hot and spasming. A man is running after them, shouting something Cas can’t hear over the pounding of blood in his ears, and he laughs as he realises the man must have owned the liquor store, laughing even harder when he sees that he’s not fast enough to catch them.

When Cas turns back to face the direction they’re running in – always a good idea, he finds – Dean is staring at him, utterly amazed, and he shakes his head, panting slightly. “Cas, you crazy son of a bitch.”

Cas throws his head back as the laughter brings tears to his eyes, feeling the wind whipping past him as they pound their feet against the dry dirt road, people lining the highstreet shouting and pointing as they pass by. He’s never felt more alive.

Dean stops dead in his tracks then, tugging Cas’s arm so that he halts too. He’s confused for a minute, and then Dean jogs along a little way, peeking into all the cars parked along the side of the street, until he lets out a cry of joy and clambers into one. It’s a convertible, a nice model too, a Ford Coupé, and Dean’s already in the driver’s seat, the sack of cash thrown in the back, so Cas runs to catch up, jumping in beside him.

He spots people he knows watching them from all sides as they pull away, Dean finding the keys in the ignition because, as he puts it: “today’s my lucky day Cas, you’ve damn sure proved that”. He sees Zachariah, his old school master, open-mouthed and utterly astounded as he points his cane at the car, a look of horror on his face at seeing Castiel do such a thing. It sends delicious thrills of rebelliousness undulating through Cas’s skin.

He throws his arms up high as they speed away, Dean chuckling now as he watches Cas out of the corner of his eye, his foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The rushing air coursing through his hair, brushing past his face as they speed out of this godforsaken town takes Castiel’s breath away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean hit the road, learn a bit about each other's boundaries, and Castiel wonders what the hell he's doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't happen for a while, but I promise Sam is in this fic, he becomes a big character too, so don't worry I haven't forgotten him!
> 
> Here is a visual reference for the Ford Coupé: http://texashideout.tripod.com/b400.jpg

Dean is the same about driving as he is about everything else. That is, he’s outwardly reckless, and if you were to see it - or worse, experience a drive with him at the wheel - you’d undoubtedly call him a madman and head for the nearest escape route. But, like with almost everything else he does, Dean is sure of himself in this area; he doesn’t act without thinking, isn’t careless or slow in his reaction times. He might even go as far as to say he is an expert driver, able to navigate complicated roads at speeds of up to 65 miles an hour, and he’s sure he could do it faster if they made cars that went up to higher speeds.

Luckily, Cas seems too distracted to properly focus on Dean’s driving at all, though he occasionally shouts his appreciation for the velocity over the roar of the wind. Dean grins at him, a tad more used to the adrenaline rush that comes with what they just did, though he can’t deny his heart is pounding, trying to burst out of its ribcage or so it would seem. Man, he hasn’t had a stick-up go that well for a long time. And he got a little added perk out of this particular job.

If you asked him, Dean couldn’t tell you why he decided to bring Cas along for the ride. After years of going solo, he supposes he must be lonesome, though he’s never dwelt on the thought too long. All he knows is that Cas looked up at him over shards of shattered glass, doe-eyed and thrumming with the kind of energy he hasn’t seen in folk since before he was locked up. Dean knew immediately that the kid wasn’t your average smalltown simpleton. He smashed that milk bottle for a reason, and heck, even if it was unintentional, maybe that reason was to meet Dean.

The kid’s got this air about him, flighty and absent – like he’s about to fly away any second. It’s cause he’s itching to get outta that town, it’s gotta be, otherwise he wouldn’t have come with Dean so easily. You can’t make a guy do something he don’t wanna do, Dean knows that, and he’s stupidly glad Cas wanted to tag along. It’ll be mighty nice to have some company on the long drive to wherever the heck they’re headed.

“Hey kid, I got you somethin’.” Dean yells to him, revelling in the way his face lights up, like a match struck inside his skull when Dean says the words. Dean jerks his head towards the backseat. “In the bag.”

Cas dives over into the back so fast it’s a little comical, his legs kicking and wriggling beside Dean as he delves into the sack, searching for his present. Dean doesn’t know what Cas is expecting to find, it’s hardly going to be much of a surprise, considering the place Dean just held up didn’t have a lot of variety in its wares.

At length, after a lot of chuckling on Dean’s part, Cas holds a bottle in the air triumphantly, and in the process lets a few dollar bills escape into the breeze. “Shit!”

“Don’ worry, we got plenty more.” Dean says, laughing, and thinks that it’s bizarre he feels calm about that; usually he’d be more annoyed.

Cas smiles at him sheepishly, sliding back down into his seat, his manic grin fixing itself back in place. “You got me a bottle of whiskey.”

Dean coughs, blushing a little, but forces himself to say it anyway. “Yeah, happy birthday. Y’know, for last week.” Cas looks so happy when he says that, it’s almost worth the mild embarrassment. “Have you even got drunk legally yet?”

Cas shakes his head, smiling, his eyes glued to the bottle in his hands. He doesn’t look ashamed of the fact he hasn’t got wasted despite being twenty-one, and it’s just one more thing that makes him so deliciously unusual.

“Well drink up, sugar,” Dean says, the endearment slipping out before he can help it, “and save me a drop, would ya?”

Dean turns the wheel sharply down country road after country road, a tunnel of trees letting the fierce sunlight filter through in patches, gliding over Cas as they pass through, making him glimmer. The kid’s still grinning like a lunatic, one arm stretched out to the side, skimming the air as they speed along, and they’re surely far enough away now, but Dean doesn’t want to stop. Cas drinks the whiskey like it’s lemonade, the amber liquid slipping past his lips, drops falling against his collarbone from where his shirt’s unbuttoned. Dean watches when he can, telling himself he’s just thirsty.

Cas looks so pure, so innocent and beautiful. He leans his head back against the seat, his black hair a mop of curls as a result of the open-top car. Dean can’t stop tearing his eyes away from the road ahead to stare.

Cas notices eventually, turning his head to meet Dean’s gaze through heavy-lidded eyes, and he gives Dean a wide, sloppy grin. He offers the half-drunk bottle to him, shaking it invitingly, and Dean grins back, something hot and tingly coursing through his body, though he shakes it off, grimacing. He grabs the bottle out of Cas’s fingers, chugging a hell of a lot down, so much that he still feels it burning in his chest and stomach when he hands it back over, wiping his mouth.

He pulls the car over then, turning down a grassy bank and into a field, so fast that Cas laughs and yelps, and Dean’s stomach drops a little. He’s too hot all of a sudden; the sun is still relentless, unyielding in its heat, and his suit pants feel uncomfortably tight.

“Wow.” Cas breathes when the ignition is turned off, and he’s still staring at Dean, his gaze loaded with something Dean doesn’t want to identify.

“So you believe me now?” Dean asks, his heart beating nervously, though he’s not sure why.

Cas sits up, shuffling closer to Dean, kneeling up on the upholstery and leaning in. Dean swallows. “Believe what?”

“That I got locked up for armed robbery o’course!” Dean exclaims, a little too loudly considering their proximity. Cas smirks at him, resting the arm not holding the whiskey bottle on Dean’s shoulder, and using his other to lift the spirit to Dean’s lips, tilting the glass rim against them so he can take a sip. A droplet falls to his chin when Cas moves the bottle away, and Dean wipes it off before Cas can react.

He feels a little cornered; Cas has him pushed up against the door, and Dean can feel his body pressed against his right side. He swallows again, wondering what the look on Castiel’s face means right now, and trying not to focus on the whiskey he can practically taste on the kid’s breath.

“Yeah, I think so.” Cas says huskily, in a voice deeper than Dean has ever heard on a twenty-one year old before. Cas leans toward him, so close they’re practically sharing breaths, and then he moves his lips to Dean’s ear. “Got any other secrets, stud?”

Dean starts when he feels Cas’s lips brush his ear, and a shiver runs through him. He grips the leather seats, not saying a word, biting his lip and closing his eyes. _This is wrong…_

With Cas this close, every inch of him feels hypersensitive, and he feels he might throw up, he’s that nervous. He wills himself to gather the courage to push Cas away, trying desperately to think of other things, of his highschool girlfriend Lisa, of her soft dark hair, black and thick, brushing against his skin…

He stops when he realises his hand has tangled itself in Cas’s hair now, and it feels so much better than Lisa’s ever did, so much thicker, silky and slippery as his fingers caress the tresses…

Cas’s lips drag over the skin of his ear, and then dip lower, pressing themselves, hot and wet with whiskey, against his pulse. Dean whimpers, hating himself for not stopping this; what would his father say, what would Sammy say? Cas slides a leg over both of his, clambering into his lap. Dean looks helplessly into Cas’s smouldering eyes, drowning in the endless blue, and Cas smirks, so certain that Dean wants this, that he's got it right.

Cas throws the near-empty whiskey bottle out of the car, not looking where it lands, and he cups Dean’s face in his hands. Dean grits his teeth, his jaw tensing in Cas’s fingers, and he wills himself to do something, to protest, to rebel against this but he can’t. It’s useless to deny how aroused he is, how his hardness presses against his slacks, so close to Cas’s – maybe he can feel it? Cas’s eyes dart to Dean’s mouth then, and he leans in, touching their lips together, moulding them around each other like they were made to fit. Cas’s mouth is warm and impossibly soft, the sharp tang of whiskey seeping between them as they kiss, delicious and sweet.

Cas moves his lips against Dean’s, pushing in closer, his hands sliding down Dean’s neck. Dean stays motionless, pliant but stiff as Cas continues. He feels the brush of Cas’s stubble scraping against his chin, and suddenly he is reminded of who this is, what they’re doing, and he is disgusted.

He shoves Cas hard in the chest, sending him hurtling backwards into the steering wheel. Dean growls and writhes until he’s free of Cas, wriggling out from under him and wiping his mouth as he jumps out of the car, ignoring Cas’s groans of indignation and pain.

“Ugh,” Dean mutters to himself, shaking the thought of what just happened off of him. He paces away from the car, cursing to himself and trying to calm down for fear he might hit Cas, beat him or worse.

“Dean, what the fuck!” Cas calls after him, and Dean needs to breathe deeply to ensure he doesn’t turn round and shoot him. He counts to ten, grateful that Cas seems to have shut up, and then turns back to the car.

Cas is leaning against it, watching him with one eyebrow raised, his arms folded, waiting for an explanation. His hair is still sticking on end from where Dean’s fingers were running through it, and the sight makes Dean sick.

Dean does the only thing he trusts himself to do right now; he lights a cigarette.

It takes him a fair few tries, his hands are trembling and once his laboured breaths snuff out the match altogether, but eventually he manages it, Cas watching him all the while. He drags on it, letting the rich tobacco cloud his senses, calming him.

After a few more puffs, he takes a few steps towards Cas, keeping a fair distance between them. He wonders how Cas can just look so nonplussed; a little annoyed maybe, but there’s no hint of embarrassment there, just a wounded, irritated stare.

Dean holds a hand up, a barrier between them, trying to look stern. “Look, I don’t know what you thought, or what you’re about- a-and I’m not judgin’, but I’m tellin’ you right off the bat, I‘m not into…” Dean flaps his hand in the space between them, screwing his face up a little. “ _That.”_

Cas stays quiet, his arms still folded, a defiant stare holding Dean in place.

“I’m not much of a lover boy, truth be told, and I sure as hell don’t like _boys_ even if I was.”

Cas averts his eyes, nodding slightly, his tongue poking the side of his cheek. “I think you should take me home now.”

Dean scoffs at that, spinning on his heel and rolling his eyes. “Oh come on. You’re not serious. Look if all you’re lookin’ for is a hook up, then sure I’ll take you back right now – you can marry one o’those pretty girls we saw on the way up,” Cas barks a laugh at that, and Dean turns to find him looking incredulously at the sky, “or sneak around with all the guys in town, see if I care.”

Cas glares at him, venom lacing his stare. Dean presses on regardless.

“But you wouldn’t ever be happy with that, and you know it, or you wouldn’t’ve climbed into that car with me.”

“So what, you kidnapped me just to-”

“I did not _kidnap_ you, jeez-”

“-just to have a partner in crime? A companion to ride in the passenger seat while you rob every store we drive past?” Castiel looks at him, clearly bewildered by his motives, and who can blame him? Dean curses his subconscious for basically picking Cas up, for leading him on, for flirting, even though he’d never admit it. “Why should I? What the hell is in this for me? I might as well go back to waitin’ tables at Bobby’s Burgers till I drop.”

Dean sighs, any resentment he feels from the kissing seeping out of him, replaced with the fondness he felt since he first talked to the kid. He steps closer, trying not to be offended when Cas tenses. He places a hand on Cas’s shoulder, and he doesn’t move away, so that’s a start. “Because you’re better than that, Cas. You know you are. And if you come with me, we can live free. Like you always wanted.”

When Cas meets his eyes, they are stinging with angry tears. “How do you know so much about me? I’ve known you half a day.”

Dean smiles, trying to be enigmatic. He shouldn’t have gotten this close to Cas so quickly after last time; he can still taste the kid on his lips. “Dunno man, I guess we’re kinda the same.”

When Cas gives a little smile, Dean knows he’s in it for the long haul.

* * *

 

After the slight hiccup back at the car, Dean had apparently decided the two of them needed some serious bonding time, because hell, they hardly know each other, but they’re apparently a weird kind of duo now. Though a decidedly non-sexual one, Cas thinks bitterly.

Dean drags him into a burger joint, despite all of Cas’s protests. He tries explaining to Dean that he’s worked in a burger place just like this one for what seems like forever, and he’s finally free. He’s not exactly itching to set foot in another one.

But Dean had just replied, “Well, it’ll be nice to have everyone waitin’ on you for a change won’t it?” and Castiel couldn’t think of a strong enough argument.

They sit opposite each other in a booth, and Dean orders Cas a ‘Turducken Slammer’ before he can even get a proper look at the menu.

“That sounds disgusting.” Cas says once the waitress has left them, fixing Dean with an ‘I can’t believe you just ordered for me’ glare.

“What does?”

“The ‘Turducken Slammer’. It sounds like a bunch of birds shoved up inside of each other. Hardly that appetising.”

“Give it a chance. Anyway, things shoved up inside each other – shouldn’t you like that kind of stuff?”

Dean means it as a joke, Cas knows, but it doesn’t amuse him. He grits his teeth, glaring across the table at Dean and leans forwards abruptly, trying to be intimidating. “Listen, if I’d known I was getting in the car with a closeted, homophobic-”

“Hey!” Dean interrupts, fury in his eyes as he leans forwards too, the two of them staring each other down over the table. “I’m not- don’t try and- you just need to back the hell off.”

Cas leans backwards, scowling. “Why did you want me to come with you, Dean?”

He half means the question rhetorically, and he doesn’t exactly expect an answer, though he’d sure as hell like one. He’d been so certain, before, that Dean had been giving him signals, that he’d wanted what Cas had wanted. And even in the car… it took Dean a good five minutes of kissing and groping before he made any move to get out of the situation. What in the hell kind of straight, non-lover-boy does that?

More likely that Dean is just scared. Castiel is hardly ever wrong about these things. He’s been seeing guys off and on for the majority of his life; he knows the signals, secret and understated as they may be.

“What do you mean why?” Dean asks, sounding pissed off. “I already told you, cause you’re different.”

“Different. Right.” Castiel looks moodily out of the window, watching the sun finally start to dip below the clouds.

“Yeah.” Dean leans forwards again, trying to capture his attention. “You and me, we’re different, we want different things.”

Cas lets his eyes slide over to Dean’s, wary. “Is that right?”

Dean casts his gaze over the restaurant, taking the few customers littered in booths and at tables, chewing messily on their burgers. “Look around you Cas.” Dean inclines his head, getting Cas to sweep his eyes over the place too. “You tellin’ me you wanna end up like them? Havin’ to be content with a nine-to-five job, eatin’ at fuckin’ Biggerson’s on special occasions? It’s hell, Cas. This is hell. And we’re gettin’ out.”

“More like... Purgatory.” Cas says, absently, thinking of the stasis of his old life, the monotony. He’s sure Hell might be a bit more interesting than that. Purgatory fits a lot better. Then he smirks, looking down at the menu beneath his fingers. “ _Burger_ tory.”

There’s a small surge of pride he almost hates himself for when Cas sees he managed to make Dean smile.

“Yeah, okay. I get’cha. Purgatory.” Dean agrees, nodding to show he understands Cas’s thought process, and for once, Cas reckons this guy probably does. “But we’re getting’ out, y’hear me?”

Cas has to admit, Dean has captured his attention now. It’s strange how similar Dean’s thoughts are on this burger restaurant to the ones he had at his own workplace. Maybe Dean isn’t so far off in what he’s saying. Maybe he and Dean aren’t so different after all. Castiel has never met anyone else like him before, save for maybe Gabriel, but he turned out to be just the same as everyone, bland and boring, content to live an endless half-life.

“You listen to me Castiel whateveryournameis, you and me travellin’ together, we could cut a path straight across this state!” Dean bangs his fist down on the table to emphasise his point, holding Cas’s gaze. “Right through Kansas, _and_ Missouri, and Kentucky too if we wanted. And what’s even better,” Dean jabs his finger at Castiel, grinning because he knows he’s got him hooked, “is that _everybody_ will hear about us.”

"Hear about us? Like... we'll be famous?"

"Damn straight. Trust me Cas, I've been there. Name in the paper, picture up on every street corner, folks pointin' and hollerin' as you drive by... it's fuckin' crazy." Dean laughs, leaning back against his seat. "You wanna be a star, Castiel?"

“Oh… shit.” Castiel sighs, his skin prickling with goosebumps as Dean's words filter into his mind, daring him to dream. His shoulders slump in defeat.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Dean grins at him, smiling at the waitress who brings Cas’s burger, setting it down before him; it looks delicious. Dean steals a fry, winking at the waitress, and then at Cas too. Cas hides his amazed expression behind his burger because he knows he’s damn well screwed. This breathtaking stranger just grabbed him by the wrist, plucked him from everything he knows, and then, along with the cash and the liquor from his hometown store, he’s gone and stolen Cas’s heart.

How could this situation be any worse, Cas wonders, and he swallows his bite, meeting Dean’s fond gaze and smiling despite himself.

“You’re a knockout, Cas.”

* * *

 

Cas only wonders vaguely about what Dean is doing when they pull up outside an upmarket clothes store moments after they cross the Kansas border. It’s twilight, and street lights vaguely illuminate patches of the sidewalk as they pull up, the milky lights of the stores lining the road glowing like candles, all the way up into the horizon.

Cas feels drunk with contentedness all of a sudden, and he wonders how he’s not exhausted by his rapid change of moods today. He’s gone from irritable to enthralled to horny, back to irritable and then blindingly happy again, staring at Dean from the passenger side and thinking about his sheer goddamn good luck.

Dean’s rejection of a drunken fumble earlier seems so trivial now – what does it matter if Dean isn’t comfortable expressing himself sexually just yet? He’s still the most interesting, phenomenally exciting person Cas has ever met by far, and for some unfathomable reason, he thinks the same about Cas.

Castiel is goddamn lucky, that’s what.

He almost wants to apologise for saying such awful things to Dean, for being so harsh with him back at Biggerson’s, but he doesn’t because he’s not that kind of guy. Dean wants to believe that Cas is strong-willed, defiant and shamelessly rebellious. Castiel wants to let him believe that.

“Alright, hop outta the car for me doll.”

“What’re we doin?”

“Oh, layin low… maybe swappin cars… but somethin’ else too.”

Castiel smiles and clambers out eagerly, waiting on the sidewalk under a dimmed lamp for Dean to slide out and join him. “Before I drop dead would be nice.”

“Ah, shut up.” Dean replies, but he’s smirking as he reaches into the back, pulling a few crumpled notes out of the bag behind them and tucking them carefully into his wallet. He smiles at Cas as he slams the car door closed.

They walk in silence up to the door of the clothes store, exchanging amused little glances because they’re both so hyped up right now, so happy, buzzing with the start of something they can feel between them. Dean catches the eye of one of the shop assistants inside as he opens the door, and she smiles at him, pausing slightly when she rakes her gaze over Castiel’s undoubtedly dishevelled form.

The bell tinkles overhead as they step into the shop. “Ah, good evening madam.” Dean says in an accent so believably upper-class that Castiel is rooted to the spot. “My friend here is looking to purchase a suit for everyday wear. Do you have some recommendations?” The shopkeeper’s eyes widen in surprise, glancing at Castiel. She opens her lipsticked mouth, about to say something, but Dean holds up a hand to silence her. “Please, no expense is too high.” Her mouth snaps shut. Dean side-eyes Castiel, grinning at his stunned face. “He’s a good friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a lovely visual for Dean in the tailor, waiting for Cas to pop out of the changing room and show off ;) http://fallforcastiel.tumblr.com/post/91054540958


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who said robbing banks would be easy?

The motel Dean chooses leaves something to be desired, certainly, and Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn’t a tad disappointed after all the splendour and luxury of the tailor, to be confronted with a small, shabby room – even worse, with two single beds.

“Seriously?” Cas asks, throwing a bag containing his new, expensive and perfectly fitted suit onto one of the beds before turning to Dean. “I thought you said we’d be living the life of luxury?”

Dean flops back on his own bed, arms cushioning his head as he stretches out, grinning. “You don’ like it?”

Castiel wrinkles his nose, raking his eyes over the vomit-coloured walls, the smeared, unclean windows, the gritty carpet. No, he doesn’t like it. He feels a little cheated, actually. Dean had promised him all kinds of marvellous things back in that diner – he mentioned nothing about crummy motel rooms, smelling suspiciously of damp and sex.

He shakes his head, folding his arms, and goes to sit on his own bed, next to Dean’s. Dean laughs at him, pulling a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. Cas reaches over, holding out a hand in a request for one too.

“Don’ worry angel,” Dean says, placing two cigarettes in the corner of his mouth and attempting to light them while still lying down, “tomorrow mornin’, we’ll pull another job, get some more cash. Then we can get you your own penthouse suite, how’s that sound?”

For a moment, Castiel says nothing. He sits quietly on the bed, fingers pulling at a loose thread in the quilt. He lifts his head when he sees Dean sitting up out of the corner of his eye, holding out his lit cigarette with a smile. Cas takes it gingerly. “Pull another job, what’s that mean?”

Dean chuckles, breathing out smoke. “What d’you think it means?”

So this is his life, Castiel thinks, dragging deeply on his cigarette, and only choking a little this time. He’s a criminal now, just like Dean is, on the run from the law. He and Dean can do whatever they want, they can live however they choose, just as long as they rob a few places on the side.

Castiel stares at Dean, long and hard, eyes roaming over the perfectly sculpted planes of his face, and trying to find his voice of conscience. Isn’t there supposed to be some part of him telling him to turn back? To tell him this is wrong? All he sees is the beauty in Dean’s crooked smile, wrapped around the tip of his cigarette, the defined, questioning arch of his brow.

He doubts he could say no to this life if he wanted to.

“Where are we going first?” Cas asks, and Dean jumps forwards to wrap an arm around his shoulders, telling him he damn well knew from the start he’d found his soulmate.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Dean says from the driver’s seat, the first warm rays of dawn splashing across his face as Cas loads his bag into the car and hops in beside him, “you’re not still mad at me, right?”

“Mad at you?” Cas asks, smiling. “For what? Buying me new clothes? Rescuing me from a life of mundanity?”

“No, err,” Dean averts his eyes, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, feeling awkward, “for yesterday… with the… kissing and stuff.”

Castiel blushes immediately, and he’s instantly just a kid again, even in that pristine new jacket and tie. “N-no, of course not. I must’ve just misinterpreted your intentions, right?”

Dean looks across at Cas, one hand on the steering wheel, staring into ice blue eyes. “Right.”

It’d be a hell of a lot easier, Dean thinks as they drive away, if his ideal partner-in-crime didn’t look so damn attractive in a charcoal, fitted suit.

* * *

 

“So you know what you’re doin’ right?” Dean says, handing the keys over to Castiel. The younger man eyes him sceptically, chewing his bottom lip, and wonders how much of a good thing it can be that he can plainly see how nervous Dean is right now. “Just wait here, keep her running, be ready to go as soon as I say.”

Castiel nods, smiling reassuringly at Dean, who seems to be psyching himself up mentally by staring into Cas’s eyes. Castiel wonders why Dean is nervous now, about this job rather than the (presumably many) others he’s done before. Perhaps he always gets nervous this way, and the last time at the liquor store he was just showing off, running off the adrenaline of the start of their adventure.

Castiel reaches over and places his hand over Dean’s, wrapped around the handle of the pistol. He can feel the cool metal from between Dean’s fingers and he shudders, giving Dean’s hand a squeeze. “What are you waiting for, Capone?”

Dean nods, sucking in a breath, and jumps out of the car. The last thing Castiel sees is his annoyingly perfect ass in those tight suit pants, striding through the door of Farmers State Bank, a little place in a town just inside of Missouri.

He breathes deeply, praying for this to go well, especially as Dean’s all jittery. He hopes he made it a little better with his sneaky ‘Capone’ reference. Dean has confided several times about his love for Al Capone’s work, specifically how he’d risen from being just an average delinquent to a feared and respected public figure, well known for his abilities to evade the law. Dean had even showed him the photograph last night, the one he keeps in his wallet at all times – a faded, crinkled newspaper cut out of his idol, with the caption ‘Alphonse Gabriel Capone’ scrawled underneath.

Castiel doubts he’s ever showed anyone before.

The man’s middle name was something of a surprise of course, and Cas felt an immediate twinge of guilt when he saw it, thinking of his childhood friend that he left behind yesterday. After all they’ve been through together, all the times they planned to run away, Gabriel would have come back downstairs to find him gone, no explanations given, and possibly recieved a few accounts of some witnesses that saw him steal a car with Dean and a bundle of cash, just in case he wasn’t confused or hurt enough.

The feeling passes though, probably quicker than it should, because Gabriel was a part of his old life. He can’t think about that anymore.

There’s a scuffle, a resounding crash bursting out of the building to his left, the one Dean disappeared into, and Castiel looks up in surprise, anxiety making him sit up ramrod straight. Another couple of crashes erupt into the air around him, and there are cries of fear from inside. This is surely not part of the plan. Castiel looks around, concerned, thinking that someone else on this street must surely have heard the commotion, but there are few people, and they all seem preoccupied with their dull little lives.

A shout of surprise makes his head whip back round to the closed double doors of the bank, and he’s suddenly shaking, because that was unmistakeably Dean’s voice. Castiel doesn’t think twice; he hurtles out of the car, shoving the doors of the bank open wide in what seems like no time at all. He’s left the car running, which is all kinds of suspicious, but he can’t worry about that now, not when Dean could be in trouble.

The scene he’s confronted with upon entering the bank is relatively similar to what he was expecting. The majority of the bank’s customers are fairly low to the floor, some with their hands on top of their heads, presumably as Dean instructed them. There are three bank clerks, each in a separate booth, guarded by iron bars as is typical, and one of them has bundles of dollar bills in her hands, which are suspended in mid-air, frozen in the process of filling up a sack - again, presumably as Dean told her to do.

The reason she has stopped immediately becomes apparent, even as everyone in the bank turns to look at Castiel’s unexpected entrance. Dean is being held by an athletic, devilishly handsome man in a dark blue suit, his thick waves of black hair swept into a carefree wave atop his head, his face screwed up in effort as Dean struggles against his hold. Cas calculates the situation present quickly, deducing that the way the man is holding Dean - his arms hooked under Dean’s armpits and bracing the back of his head  - will be near impossible to get free of on his own. And there is little doubt that someone has already called the cops.

Dean shoots a pained look over at Castiel, an apologetic look, clearly having given up already, and Castiel smiles. It confuses Dean to no end, but Cas knows he’s not going to jail, not today, neither of them are; these people are much more scared of robbers than they appear, even this idiot who's decided to stand up to Dean. Castiel’s just got to restore some authority.

“Alright, listen up!” Castiel shouts, and a surge of gratitude hits him when he sees the colt, clearly knocked out of Dean’s fingers when he was tackled from behind, having skidded across the floor to land about three feet away. He crosses to it, keeping his face stony, his stride firm and sure, scooping up the gun to the surprised gasps and whimpers of several patrons around him. “I bet you thought you were in the clear when this bastard grabbed hold of my partner here.” He sees one woman, kneeling beside him, her rosary to her whispering lips as she watches him, and he smiles a little, enjoying the power he feels. He points the gun squarely at the guy holding Dean, and his stomach flips when Dean lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Let’s just say you chose the wrong couple o’thieves, rookie.”

The man’s eyes grow wide, and he stares, trembling, at the gun pointed towards him. Castiel tilts his head at the poor sucker, the gun with it, loving how he can make the idiot squirm. He’s still holding Dean though, and his vice grip on that perfect man are making Cas impatient.

“Listen up y'eejits, the jig's up, okay?" The man stammers out, and Castiel is surprised to hear a rich Irish accent flavouring the man's words. In another life, Castiel might have swooned. Right now however, in Castiel's eyes this man is just a nuisance, putting his hands on Dean without permission, and -oh what a shame- he's right in Cas's line of fire. "The police’ll be here… any minute!” The man splutters out, and Dean rolls his eyes, making Castiel smirk. The poor guy, Cas has to admit he’s got balls. Too bad he’s not the one holding the gun.

Castiel makes a ‘hmm’ sound, pretending to contemplate this statement, long and hard. He casts his gaze around the silent room, taking in each terrified face so he can savour it later. Once he’s sure _he’s_ not going to be jumped from behind, Castiel takes a few steps towards the stranger gripping Dean, holding the gun steady, so there can be no uncertainty that he wouldn’t miss if he pulled the trigger. The man starts breathing loudly as Castiel nears him.

“I don’t listen to anyone but me. Not anymore bucko.” Castiel intones, low and as menacing as he can, catching Dean’s eye briefly and noting the look of awe there. “And maybe him,” Castiel adds as an afterthought, smirking as he gestures the gun barrel towards Dean very briefly, “but that’s a special case, you understand.”

The man has gone extremely pale at Castiel’s proximity, his face glistening with a cold sweat. Dean must be so uncomfortable right now, and Castiel is disgusted for him. “Here’s the deal, Mr Hero,” Castiel says, louder now so that everyone can hear, “you let him go, this nice lady’ll hand over every cent he asked for,” Castiel turns his head briefly to wink at the pretty brunette bank clerk, her fists full of delicious cash, “and I won’t shoot you in the fucking head. How’s that sound?”

The man seems to weigh his options for a moment, glancing from the terrified people on the ground, to Castiel’s unblinking gaze, to the barrel of that beautiful gun, so solid and cool in Cas’s palm. Such a little object, but one that holds more freedom than Castiel has ever dreamed of. He sighs like he’s getting impatient, and pushes the gun against the man’s temple.

Dean is released in an instant, and he fist pumps, whooping with joy, clearly ecstatic. He starts to make his way over to the clerk, a skip in his step, but spins on his heel, jogging back over to Cas, who is still pointing his gun at the wannabe hero, and grabbing hold of his waist. Cas laughs at him, not taking his eyes off his target though he so desperately wants to, and he tries hard not to whimper when he feels Dean press an excited kiss to his cheek.

* * *

 

“You _badass!_ ” Dean yells as Castiel veers round another corner, heart beating erratically because they barely made it out of that town before the police cars swerved in, too late as usual, their paths crossing Dean and Cas’s without even realising. Dean had even tipped an invisible hat to one of them. “Oh my god, Cas, that was fuckin’ incredible. If I didn’t know before, now I’m sure of it, you’re my fuckin’ soulmate dude.”

Cas just glances over at the passenger seat, smiling, trying to shrug it off, but knowing there’s a glint in his eye because making Dean this happy is just about the best feeling there is. “That was… that was a lot of fun.” Cas admits, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

And fuck, it was a lot of fun, it was more fun than it had any right to be, considering it was scaring innocent folk out of their wits, robbing a bank for Christ’s sake. But he’s never felt more exhilarated, never had such a rush. The only thing that could have made it any better was… doing it with Dean. Properly. Without him being somewhat incapacitated this time.

He looks at the man beside him again, grinning now, because suddenly his future got a hell of a lot brighter; he and Dean, an unstoppable duo, driving to wherever, holding up stores, doing whatever the hell they wanted with the money. He’d never be bored again.

Dean must be thinking much the same, because he’s smiling too, a hungry, excited look in his eyes as he takes in Cas beside him. Dean reaches over, slinging an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and squeezing him tightly, both of them laughing when it makes Cas swerve a little on the near-deserted road.

Cas doesn’t mention it when Dean leaves his arm there for the remainder of the journey. Why would he? It’s not like he _minds._

* * *

 

“-think about it, Cas! Riviera views, big, shiny cars! You name it, it’s yours.” Dean’s been spewing this kind of stuff for the past mile or so, throwing his arms wide as the car races along, Cas just laughing at every word that comes out of his mouth. “We’ll get you a nice hat to go with your new suit. Though maybe that’s a bad idea, don’t wanna hide that pretty face do we?”

Dean chucks his hands under Cas’s chin, and Cas preens appropriately, both of them laughing as he bats his lashes at the empty road ahead.

“You sure you’re not queer? You’re the flirtiest straight guy I’ve ever met.” Cas remarks, laughing at Dean’s ‘warning’ look he shoots over in response. It melts into a smile quickly enough, and Cas observes him quietly, wondering if he’ll get an answer. He’s half-joking, mainly saying it to piss Dean off, but in truth Dean’s behaviour doesn’t really make any sense if he’s as straight as he says he is. “The prettiest too.”

Dean side-eyes him, unable to keep from smiling back as Cas grins at him, playful and still buzzing from what they just did. Dean purses his lips a couple of times, and Cas raises his eyebrows, prompting that response he knows is at the forefront of Dean’s brain. “Maybe I just have a thing for pretty faces and free spirits.”

Cas’s heart lurches and he almost stalls the car, making Dean chuckle a lot. He scowls when Dean pulls a brand new bottle of whiskey out of one of the bags by his feet – something they stopped off to nick as a necessity pretty soon after they were sure they were safe from being followed. He waves the bottle in front of Cas’s face. “Free spirits,” Dean says, grinning as Cas glares, “and a pretty face.”

Dean taps his nose, unscrewing the lid of the bottle quickly before he takes a gulp. Cas shakes his head fondly, making sure to drive over a rough patch of road so that Dean accidentally spills some down his shirt. “Oh, man.” He complains, frowning down at the stain.

“Take it off, really. I don’t mind.” Castiel says, making his face as innocent as possible, and Dean swats at him.

“Don’t get cocky just cause I’m lettin’ you in on the big boy stuff now,” Dean says, pinching the affected area of shirt between his thumb and forefinger to inspect the damage, “though I gotta say, even though I’ve probably bored you to death with sayin’ this, you’re a fuckin’ godsend Castiel. It’s like you were born for this shit, I’ve never seen anythin’ like it! The look on his face when you picked up the gun!”

Castiel laughs, throwing his head back so the breeze catches his curls. “Well, gee, thanks Dean,” he says animatedly, batting his eyelids; Dean smirks and bats the air in front of him as he sips, knowing immediately that Cas is taking the piss, “I’ve always known I’d be a star at somethin’! How _intelligent_ you are!”

Cas grabs the liquor bottle out of Dean’s hands, laughing. They both notice the fuel gage at roughly the same time.

* * *

 

“Okay? Just like we talked about. It’s a necessity now that we’re both workin’ the jobs together.” Dean reiterates for the thousandth time. Castiel nods yet again, rolling his eyes, and pushes against Dean’s shoulder, indicating he should get out of the car. Dean grins at him, blowing him a kiss that makes Cas want to punch him, and hops out of the car.

The bastard _knows_ Cas has got a stupid schoolgirl crush, and he’s totally taking advantage of it. Cas would probably yell at the idiot about it if he wasn’t so worried that Dean might stop all the not-so-casual touching and flirting if he did.

A kid runs out of the little shop just then, his grin infectious as he surveys the car Cas is sat in. He’s Asian, a little on the short side in comparison to him and Dean, but then who isn’t? Cas shoots a look over at his new partner, signalling the go-ahead with their little plan, and Dean pokes his head into the shop, checking for anyone else that might see them.

They’ve deliberately chosen a fairly run-down looking gas station in the outskirts of nowhere for this little endeavour, and it looks like they may have hit the jackpot. The kid flicks open the latch of the car’s filling cap and shoves the nozzle inside, beaming at Cas as he whistles a tune. Dean strolls back out of the shop, looking nonchalant, and gives Cas a small nod, just as the kid finishes filling the car up.

“Hey kid,” Cas says, grinning as he beckons the sucker over to the driver’s side, “what’s your name?”

“Kevin Tran, sir.” The kid replies, his smile wavering a little as he takes in Cas’s ponderous expression. Castiel digs a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and places it between his lips.

“Kevin Tran, huh?” Castiel reiterates, smiling as he fumbles for a match. Kevin twists the dirty rag in his hands nervously, but nods.

“That’s right. Advanced Placement.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shoot up, and he darts a look over towards Dean, smirking a little as he drags on his cigarette. “Hey, Dean, check it out,” Dean jogs over, sliding back into the car, passenger side, “this here is Kevin Tran, Advanced Placement.”

Dean barks a laugh, holding out a hand to Cas, indicating he wants his own cigarette. Cas rolls his eyes, and hands over his own as he reaches for another. “Hm, does that mean then, Mr Tran,” Dean begins, leaning over Cas towards Kevin and looking him straight in the eye, “that you’re still in school?”

Dean blows a smoky breath upwards past Kevin’s wide-eyed expression. “Uh, yes. Yes sir.”

“Huh.” Is all Dean replies, leaning back in his seat and exchanging a look with Cas. “But you work here as well? Fix cars, fill em up?”

Castiel grins at Dean, loving how he manages to glide so easily from topic to topic, charming his subjects with his wit and beauty before luring them in, trapping them before it’s too late.

“That I do. My parents own this shop.” Kevin explains, gesturing at the shabby building he came out of. “I work here part time, when I’m not studying. My parents want me to go to _college_.”

He says the last word like it’s poisonous, his nose wrinkling in distaste, betraying his opinion about the matter. “Oh yeah?” Castiel asks, feeling he should take the lead on this one, seeing as he’s seen the expressions on the kid’s face staring back at him in the mirror for the past ten years. “Where’s that?”

Dean blows a few smoke rings, entrancing Kevin momentarily, but he shakes himself, focusing on the question. “Princeton.”

“Oh now, that’s a shame.” Castiel says, tutting, giving Dean a meaningful look so he’ll play along. “I hear they do _terrible_ things to you there.”

“What?” Kevin asks, alarmed. “R-really?”

“Oh yeah.” Dean agrees, clearly loving the game. “They give you a tiny cell- I mean _room_ to live in.”

“No windows.” Castiel chimes in, both of them leaning forwards to emphasise their point. “No visitors.”

“All you’re allowed to do is study.” Dean says, looking sadly at the kid, as if he’s sympathising. It’s convincing stuff, it truly is. “It’s a shame kid, you look like you know a lot about cars.”

Dean and Cas lean back slowly, straightening as if preparing to drive away. It’s as Dean reaches for his ‘wallet’ that Kevin pipes up. “I do!”

Dean looks up, faux-surprise on his face. “You do, huh?”

“I know a _hell_ of a lot.”

Cas glances at Dean, throwing the stub of his cigarette out by the kids feet before resting his arms casually on the door frame. “Well um,” he begins, resting his chin on his arms and peering up at Kevin, smiling, “would you know what kind of car… this is?” He taps the exterior of the car they’re in, staring at Kevin, wide-eyed.

Kevin bites his lip, glancing at the car once just to confirm. “It’s a four-cylinder Ford Coupé.”

“Nope.”

Kevin looks confused, glancing over at Dean, who’s grinning, reclined casually across the seat, one arm flung over the back of the upholstery. “Sure is!”

“Nuh uh, Kev.” Castiel says again, sitting up a little so he can lean in close. “This here, it’s a _stolen_ four-cylinder Ford Coupé.”

Kevin’s mouth falls open in shock, and he looks at Dean to confirm. He takes a couple of steps backwards, bringing a hand to card through his hair. “Damn.”

“You scared, kid?” Dean asks, pulling Cas back up until they’re shoulder to shoulder again. Kevin doesn’t reply, just stares, mouth agape, smiling slightly in disbelief. Dean turns to Cas. “I think he’s scared, sugar.”

“I ain’t, I ain’t!” Kevin says quickly, running back to the side of the car again, placing his hands where Cas’s had been moments before, as if trying to prevent them from driving away. Castiel knows the look etched onto his face right now, it’s desperation. He’s got the same yearning to be out of here that Cas did back in Kansas. “I swear.”

“Hmm.” Castiel says, grabbing hold of Dean’s arm, still flung across the back of the seat, and bringing it around his shoulders, mainly to see if it’ll scare Kevin away, cause he’s not giving up touching Dean, not for anyone. Luckily, Kevin just looks mildly surprised, but it fades fast. “Well, I’m Castiel, and this here is Dean Winchester.” Dean nods at the kid again, grinning. Cas smiles widely, making sure he has Kevin’s full attention for this. “We rob banks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a nice visual aid for kevin... he'd be in like a jumpsuit probably, but he looks pretty tasty in a suit too dont you think?
> 
> http://thejigsawtimess.tumblr.com/post/54599088675/osric-chau
> 
> Oh, and I'm sorry about this guys but I leave for Paris tomorrow, so the next update wont be till Monday, Tuesday at the latest. Sorry for the inconvenience, I will be back to regular updates after that! x


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbing banks has its perks... no motel rooms for one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day later than I said. Hope you guys are enjoying it so far ;) 
> 
> Things get a little steamier in this chapter just a warning...

Getting Kevin in the car goes much better than Dean anticipated, on the whole. The kid seemed eager to get involved as soon as he learnt he and Cas were on the wrong side of the law. They really lucked out with Kevin, Dean was sure they’d be looking for someone appropriate for a while.

They decided almost as soon as they got clear of Farmer’s State Bank - sure in the knowledge that Cas was now a decidedly essential piece in this game - that they needed a driver. Just anyone really, somebody who they could trust, would keep the car running outside while he and Cas did their thing, and drove well enough to avoid cops and get them clear of any trouble after the deed was done.

Kevin, as it turned out, needed little persuading, he was so eager to prove himself. Dean asked him for some evidence that they could trust him, and Kevin ran right on into the store, emptied out the cash register of all his parents’ cash, and climbed into the backseat, without a word.

Yeah, they lucked out big time.

They’re not on the road anymore, Cas having looked over at Dean as soon as they were half a mile down the highway, batting those stupidly blue eyes at him, and Dean remembered the promise he made. So he started looking out for places to stay, and they pulled into a smallish town about an hour ago, Dean directing Cas into the classier parts, telling him to pull into the parking lot of a place called ‘The Royale’.

Kevin whistled in surprise as they drew up, and Dean turned to look at him, miming a zip across his lips because, hey, the kid hardly looks like five-star material right now in those oil-stained clothes. Dean makes a mental note there and then to get him a suit of his own at some point. Though best to leave it a while; don’t want Cas getting jealous, he thinks wryly.

Cas beams at the valet who comes over to greet them, fluttering his lashes and letting their hands linger together too long as he hands over the keys. Dean narrows his eyes, distracting himself by discreetly pulling the sack of cash out of the car and handing it to Kevin, telling him to hide it in the shrubbery nearby without anyone seeing. Kevin nods excitedly, enthusiastic now that he’s been given a task, and Dean turns back to the horrific spectacle in front of him.

Cas giggles and gushes at the valet, even damn well tripping in front of him so the guy’s hands reach out to steady him. All in all, Dean’s about ready to start throwing punches by the time Cas joins him, watching the car pull away.

“D’you gotta do that?” Dean asks through gritted teeth, taking Cas by the arm a little roughly as they walk through into the lobby of the hotel.

“Do what?” Cas asks innocently, his eyes glinting with mischief, betraying him.

“Flirt with every damn guy or dame we cross paths with?”

Cas laughs, incredulous, and pulls free of Dean’s grip. “Like you don’t do it too whenever you can.” He shakes his head in disbelief, side-eyeing Dean as they walk towards the front desk. “How else would you suggest we distract him? Or are you completely fine with the man seeing you and Kevin sneaking that huge sack of stolen cash outta the front seat?”

Dean rounds on him, taking him by the shoulders and shushing loudly, both of them stopping in their tracks in the middle of the marble floor. “Are you out of your mind?!” Dean hisses at him, bringing their faces close. “Keep your voice down about that shit!”

Cas regards him, eyes narrowed, and he takes hold of Dean’s tie, holding him in place as he smirks. A cold bead of sweat trickles down the back of Dean’s neck; there are people everywhere, milling around this lobby, any one of them could notice, suspect the worst…

“Maybe you’re just jealous, huh?”

Dean scoffs, trying to wriggle out of Cas’s grasp, but every move he makes just tightens the tie around his neck, so he stays still, teeth gritted, his heart racing. “As if.”

“Well then.” Cas says, still smirking, and it makes Dean immediately on edge. Cas releases him, and Dean takes a step backwards, checking around to see if anyone is staring; no one is. “I guess if you don’t care, then there’s no harm in me keepin’ on doin’ it, is there?”

Dean says nothing, his nostrils flaring, giving Cas a warning stare, which Cas just laughs off.

“I mean hell, it’s not like I belong to anyone is it? Might as well take advantage of what God gave me.” He winks, infuriatingly. “While I’m still young.”

Dean watches, his blood boiling, as Cas saunters away, hips swaying in an obvious fashion as he approaches the reception desk. Dean’s about to stalk after him, but he feels a sudden tug on his arm. He looks down, his face murderous, to see Kevin, his pleased smile dropping straight off as soon as he takes in Dean’s current mood.

“I-I put the bag,” Kevin stammers, checking side to side and leaning in close to Dean, whispering, “in a safe place.”

Dean swallows his rage as best he can and nods, patting Kevin on the shoulder. “Good job, we’ll come down and grab it after dark.”

Kevin smiles tentatively, and Dean inclines his head, indicating Kevin should follow as he goes to join Cas at the front desk. By the time they get there, Cas’s flirting techniques are well underway, and as he leans forwards over the desk, grinning and watching the female receptionist through hooded eyes; she blushes and giggles, making Dean’s toes curl.

Well, if Cas wants to play, Dean’s no stranger to this game. He grabs Cas’s hip, pulling him backwards a little way so that his arms slide off the countertop, and then in until Cas is crushed against his side, Dean’s arm tight around his waist. Cas even makes a small yelp of surprise as he’s manoeuvred about, staring up at Dean in shock.

“What’s the hold up, angel?” Dean asks, looking at the receptionist, her blonde hair tied in a bun, a few strands falling around her pointed, pretty face. Cas tenses, just as Dean hoped he would, because he recognises the endearment, and doesn’t like Dean using it on some random girl.

The receptionist looks a little shocked at the display of almost-affection, and then even more so when she sees Kevin in his work clothes, next to Dean, an omnipresent smile on his face. She quickly realises she’s being flirted with further though, and blushes again, scribbling something down into a notebook in front of her. “Nothing sir, I’ve got you down for one of our family suites, is that… correct?”

She eyes each member of their party sceptically, trying to suss the ‘family’ label they’ve given themselves, one eyebrow raised. She’s a sassy little thing, Dean will give her that, though he’s still enraged with her for daring to flirt with Cas, though he has no reason to be of course. He beams at her, pulling Cas tighter to him, moving his fingers over his ribcage so that Cas squeaks almost inaudibly.

“That’s right…” Dean leans forwards, peering at her nametag. “ _Jo.”_

Jo nods, sensing Dean is not to be messed with, and sets about finishing up the paperwork for their stay, not before throwing Cas an apologetic smile that Dean wants to punch her for.

* * *

 

The ‘family suite’ is beyond ridiculous in size, relatively open plan in its layout, with two bedrooms on either end, along with a sofabed so large it could fit all three of them no trouble. They’re quite high up, and Cas is delighted to find they actually have a view out of their wide, floor to ceiling window, stretching across the back of the living space.

He rushes over to it, grinning, pressing his hands to the glass and peering out over the miniature sized town, the cars and people bustling by below him none the wiser.

“Fuck, this place is amazing.” Cas exclaims, turning round, and upon doing so finding Dean standing right in front of him, a sombre expression on his face. Castiel gulps; oh shit, yeah, he’s in trouble.

“I’m err… gonna go check out the mini fridge.” Kevin says awkwardly from somewhere behind them, and Dean nods slowly, not turning around. “Can you believe this place has a kitchen?”

Kevin’s voice trails off as he rounds a corner to find food, and Castiel swallows again, realising he’s alone with Dean, who’s annoyed with him for flirting, of all things. As if he has any right.

“I like the hotel, Dean.” Cas says carefully, acutely aware that Dean is so close that he’s basically backing Cas up against the window right now. “You follow through on your promises of luxury.”

“Good, I’m glad.” Dean replies, and Cas can see the thin line of stubble breaking out on his square, firm jaw. “You like the room? The size and the décor?”

Cas pauses, confused at what Dean’s asking. “Y-yes.”

Dean inhales deeply, nodding. “What about that receptionist downstairs, you like her too?”

Cas is worried now, there’s something lurking in Dean’s eyes, something ferocious, waiting to break out, Cas can feel it. He opens his mouth, ready to say that he was just messing around with that girl, trying to push Dean’s buttons, but Dean cuts him off, slamming a hand against the pane of glass by Cas’s head.

“You want me to go talk to her, bring her up here, get her to fuck you in one of these rooms that I paid for?” Dean asks, his voice a dramatic crescendo, and Cas cringes, knowing Kevin must be able to hear every word.

Cas shakes his head, trying to avert his gaze, but Dean grabs hold of his chin with his free hand, forcing them to look each other in the eye. Cas gets annoyed then; it’s not his fault, it’s like an instinctive reaction. He’s never liked being manhandled, he’s had far too much of it in his life, and so he stares Dean in the eye, jaw clenching.

“ _You_ paid for?!” He cries, making Dean drop his hand in surprise. “If it wasn’t for me you’d be banged up in jail again after that last job!”

Dean scoffs, attempting to dismiss the accusation, but he must know it’s useless. Cas saved his ass, Dean knows it, and by stepping in the way he did, he effectively earned the cash that paid for this room as much as Dean did. “So what then? You gonna call up ‘Jo’ at reception? Invite her to the hotel bar? Spend time plyin’ her with drinks and listenin’ to her yappin’ on about the same borin’ shit you ran away from until she’s drunk enough to let you in her panties?”

Cas makes a disgusted noise, shoving hard at Dean’s chest, but Dean doesn’t budge; he’s stronger than Castiel after all. Cas grits his teeth, knowing he’s trapped, Dean pinning him here like some flimsy _girl_ and he growls in frustration because the guy’s such a fucking _idiot._

“Are you funny in the head or somethin’?” Cas yells, prodding Dean with his finger, angry and hard. “Seriously, what the fuck is the matter with you? _Obviously_ the only person I care about getting’ anywhere with is you! And that’s clearly a fuckin’ waste of energy cause you’re as stupid about that as you are about everythin’ else, playin’ like you’re as straight as they come when I _see_ the way you look at me sometimes- and who the hell gets all bent outta shape like that when just their ‘friend’ starts flirtin’ around, it don’t make no-”

Cas shuts up, partly because of a sudden pain shooting through the back of his skull as it connects with the thick glass behind him, but mostly due to the fact Dean is kissing him, hard and furious, a mess of teeth and lips as he holds Castiel in place, hands moving to slide underneath his suit jacket, gripping at his tapered waist. It takes Castiel a moment to catch up after the initial shock of it, but he quickly realises what’s happening and moans in approval, reaching up to grip the back of Dean’s head, his fingers messing up that slicked coiffure like he’s wanted to do since he first met the man.

Dean is no amateur, despite Castiel’s wonderings on the subject, and his kisses just deepen as Castiel pulls him in, their tongues meeting with a satisfied shudder. Dean tasted like he smells, of whiskey and rich earthy goodness; Castiel knows he’s addicted to it straight away. Dean sucks Cas’s lower lip into his mouth, his devilish tongue teasing along the sensitive skin and Castiel moans again, pushing his hips forwards out of instinct.

Dean’s mouth parts, gasping at the friction, and Cas wonders for a second if he pushed too far, but doesn’t have long to ponder that thought. Dean’s hands slide down, brushing his hips, his belt and then skimming possessively over his ass. It’s Castiel’s turn to gasp now, and he does so as he feels Dean’s strong hands gripping him, their lips still moving together. Before he can properly register what’s happening, Castiel feels Dean pulling him upwards, urging him to lift himself off the ground, and out of instinct, Cas jumps, his legs wrapping themselves around Dean’s waist almost of their own accord.

“Fuckin’ annoying little angel.” Dean murmurs against Cas’s lips, his strong arms holding Cas’s weight easily, and Cas chuckles, kissing Dean hungrily, because he’s waited for this, and he honestly didn't think he was going to get it.

Dean starts to move then, and Cas yelps a little, wobbling uncertainly and making them both laugh, but not for long, as it seems neither of them are too happy about their lips being apart for very long. This becomes problematic as Dean tries to walk them somewhere else however, as it turns out he needs to see for that to happen. Cas understands immediately, and moves his attention to Dean’s almost illegally-perfect jawline, mouthing wet kisses along it, and nibbling gently at the skin.

Dean manages to get them into one of the bedrooms somehow, and it’s incredible really, Castiel is almost sure there was a closed door in the way, but then again, he wasn’t really paying much attention. Dean throws Castiel down onto the double bed, smirking at him, a hint of nervousness still visible under his flirtatious exterior.

Cas’s heart beats like a friggin’ one man band as Dean closes the door, his mind a flurry of nervous excitement as Dean comes to join him. If Castiel had to pinpoint just one moment in his achingly dull life thus far to label as his favourite, he would undoubtedly say it was when Dean Winchester shucked off his jacket and crawled on top of him in a bed bought with the money they stole together.

It doesn’t even matter that moments later Dean’s nerves catch up with him and he freezes, arms either side of Castiel’s face, too filled with doubt to continue. Cas’s hands reach up to smooth themselves against his biceps, the material of his white shirt wrinkling beneath his fingers. “Hey,” Cas says, looking up into Dean’s apprehensive, beautiful face, “seems you spilled some whiskey on this shirt, Capone.”

Castiel taps the stain on Dean’s chest with one finger, his eyebrows raised, and it works. Dean looks down at it, smiling. “Oh mercy me.” He says fondly, a glint in his eye again as he looks at Castiel. “Whatever would you suggest that I do, mister?”

Castiel sits up a little way, resting on his elbows, so that his face is closer to Dean’s again. He puts on a regrettable face. “Well, it seems there’s really only one viable option here.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re gonna have to take it off.”

“Is that right?” Dean asks, leaning forwards, his smile a full one now, and before Castiel can answer, their lips are pressed together again; Dean’s pushing him backwards, lying on top of him on the bed and it’s heavenly. Cas’s fingers start working at Dean’s shirt buttons, a cry of victory running through his brain every time he gets one to slip through its hole with his shaking hands.

Dean makes a noise of contentment as Cas slips the shirt over his shoulders at last, revealing a plain white cotton vest, which Cas makes sure doesn't stay on for long, and then it's nothing but his bare skin, miles of it, gleaming and tanned, stretching across muscles and bone, practically begging to be caressed, kissed, loved. And that's just what Cas intends to do. He’s got a tattoo as well, Cas notices, a hint of surprise running through him.

A sort of star surrounded by flames, on the left side of his chest. Castiel shivers a little when he sees it; a tattoo, especially on someone as clean cut and outwardly handsome as Dean is so deliciously rebellious.

He moves his hand down, covering the ink-stained skin, and Dean shivers, pulling back to stare at him for a moment in wonder. Cas smiles, his nimble fingers tracing the outline of the design, and Dean tenses suddenly, staring down at Cas beneath him, his green eyes wide.

* * *

 

Dean Winchester is fucked up. He knows he is, has known it all his life, it’s part of the reason he feels so at home alone on an open road, breaking the law and terrorising innocent folk on a daily basis. He’s not stupid, he’s aware that his thoughts about some boys, some especially _pretty_ boys are not the epitome of ‘normal’ and ‘straight’ – hell, he’d never admit it but this isn’t the first time he’s given in to temptation in regards to those thoughts.

But to actually admit any of that, to say it out loud, he’d honestly rather die. His father John Winchester, a callous - bitter man, living a life of sour regret and anguish after the death of his wife - hammered his expectations into Dean since he could talk. He made it quite clear that he expected Dean to grow up to be a man, a strong, upstanding character who took nobody’s shit. Dean has been doing his best all his life to meet those expectations – raising Sammy, his little brother whenever John got too bored or tired or aggressive, learning how to defend himself, how to shoot a gun, to drive, to earn cash (the less than legal way).

Dean made sure Sam grew up behind him, let himself be his little brother’s shield against their father’s often cruel behaviour, so he always got the brunt of it. But it’s worth it, definitely, cause Sammy’s married now, and even if Dean isn’t too fond of the girl he picked out, he’s happy.

Well, at least, Sammy’s much further on his way to achieving happiness than Dean is, that’s for sure.

And even though Sam loves him more than every star in the sky, Dean’s sure, admires him and looks up to him like he’s some kind of Messiah, Dean feels sick at the very thought of his baby brother, who’s own chest is branded with the same tattoo Castiel is currently stroking from beneath him, ever finding out that he’s some kind of _homo._

Not that he is. Dean’s just got some weird thoughts, some uncontrollable urges that he can’t repress sometimes in regards to guys. Especially in regards to one guy, currently pinned underneath him on the bed.

Dean’s eyes prick with stupid, angry tears as he looks down into Cas’s sweet, mischievous face, because how could the poor kid know what he’s dealing with here? Dean meant what he said, he doesn’t judge the guy even though he’s clearly a lot more than liberal with his own sexuality, damn what the law says. How could he judge? What right does he have? They’re both lawbreakers anyway, what’s another law?

Cas’s face falls, his hand retreating from Dean’s bared chest, a look of concern flashing across his eyes. Dean hates that he can’t give the kid what he so clearly wants, what they both so clearly want, but he hates himself more. He can’t stand the idea of this whole thing, John had been thorough in his upbringing, making sure Dean understood just how filthy this ‘homosexuality’ idea was, how repulsive.

Even though John Winchester is long gone now, resting quietly in his grave (or maybe turning in it) after a bar fight gone wrong three years ago now, he’s still at the forefront of Dean’s mind, his words, filled with hate as he describes the two fellas down the road from where they lived, banged up in jail for their illicit affair. Dean rolls off of Cas, filled with loathing, and sits at the end of the bed.

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

He reaches for his vest, pulling it on quickly, shielding his skin from view, and apologising to Sammy as he brushes a hand over the representation of their brotherly connection. God, Cas must be so irritated with him. What if he wants to leave? Dean wouldn’t exactly blame the guy, even he can see how crazy he’s acting, punishing Cas for flirting and then chickening out before they…

Dean starts, feeling hands smoothing over his back, up over his shoulder blades; a gentle, soothing caress. Cas is crawling up to kneel beside him, careful and unhurried, seemingly wary of Dean’s current mood.

“It’s okay.” Cas whispers, quietly, so Dean almost doesn’t hear. He feels Cas press an innocent kiss to his shoulder, his hands still smoothing across his back, comforting him. “It doesn’t matter. I promise.”

Dean feels himself welling up, so he bites down on his lip hard, averting his gaze. How has he found someone this incredible? How does he deserve Cas, able to put up with him despite his behaviour, the love in his voice so obvious it’s deafening. He’s grateful, so incredibly grateful that Cas seems to understand, somehow, for whatever reason, but he still wants to explain himself. He feels he owes it to the poor guy.

“It’s not you Cas…” He starts, his breath catching as Cas winds his arms round his waist from behind. Fucked up reservations or not, he’s still undeniably attracted to Cas, and the guy should really watch where he’s putting those beautiful hands. “I just… my Dad… he was pretty- pretty unforgiving about all…” Dean gestures between them vaguely, “this.”

Cas nods, his chin brushing Dean’s shoulder, he’s that close. “Don’t worry darlin’, I'm still into you, I promise.”

Dean chuckles breathily, his eyes stinging, and he turns to face Cas, looking up into Cas’s big baby blues. “Where’d I find you, huh?”

“I’m one of a kind sweetheart.” Cas replies softly, winking, and Dean can’t help kissing him, very briefly, a brush of their lips before he pulls back, apology in his eyes. “Will you come lie with me? Just for a while.”

Dean nods, smiling, a wave of relief washing over him. That, he can handle. He’d even go as far as to say he’s looking forward to it. They move up the bed together, Cas taking hold of Dean’s hand and kissing it once before leading the way, directing Dean to lie on one of the pillows while he shucks off his suit jacket, folding it carefully before moving in to shimmy up next to him, on his side.

Dean can’t seem to stop smiling, one arm behind his head as he looks over at Cas on the pillow beside him, completely happy despite everything that just occurred. It doesn’t take long before Cas is pawing at him, gently, without intent, but needing to touch Dean at all times apparently. He shimmies in closer, smoothing his hand over Dean’s soft cotton vest, and sighs contentedly when Dean’s arm wraps around him, pulling him in.

“Is your daddy still around?” Cas asks, a little out of nowhere, and Dean frowns, wondering why he cares.

“Nah.”

“You’re a good person, Dean.” Cas says then, a little muffled as his lips are pressed against Dean’s ribcage. “You don’t need to hang on to what he told you forever.”

At any other time, not curled around his current favourite person (save for Sammy), Dean might get a little annoyed right about now. He doesn’t generally take too kindly to folk disrespecting his father, but he’s feeling indulgent, plus it’s _Cas._ So he lets it go.

“Is that right?”

“Damn straight.” Castiel replies, and Dean can feel him smiling. “I have a theory that nobody – not our parents, not our teachers, our elders, _nobody_ – knows what the hell they’re doin’ in this life. Your daddy was prob’ly just makin’ up the parentin’ thing as he went. Who’s to say he did it right? Who’s to say his opinion is the right one?”

Cas tilts his head up to suss Dean’s reaction, probably wondering if he should shut up. Dean just stares back levelly, considering.

“All I’m sayin’ is,” Castiel says, sitting up a little so he can bring his face closer to Dean’s, and before Dean can react, he’s pressing their lips together, “this don’t feel wrong.”

“Huh.” Dean says as Cas snuggles back down into his former position. He smiles down at the top of his head fondly. “You’re a right little philosopher aren’t you?”

Castiel swats at him, smiling. “So did your wonderful father bring up any other possibly-closeted, emotionally-closed-off children?”

Dean’s jaw drops open and he rolls Cas onto his back, astonished by the pure cheek of him. Anyone else that had just yesterday run away with a fresh-out-of-jail bank robber who cut off his own toes wouldn’t _dare_ say something like that, Dean’s sure of it. Castiel damn well is one of a kind.

“You’re really fuckin’ annoying, y’know that?” Dean says, still flabbergasted, and Cas just grins at him.

“Last time you called me annoying you started making out with me. You can hardly blame me if I keep it up.” Castiel replies, clearly loving this, though he tries to wriggle closer to Dean again and pouts when he’s pushed away. “So? Any siblings or not?”

“Why’re you so interested? And yeah, as it happens, I’ve got a brother. Sam.”

Dean’s heart flips as he says the name, a smile appearing on his face without his permission.

“I’m interested cause you’re clearly a big old mess and sibling relationships would undoubtedly be good for you.” He yelps then, flailing and kicking as Dean tickles his sides, punishment for being so damn cheeky. “Sam!” Castiel squeaks out through bouts of laughter, and Dean stops, distracted. “Sam, right? When can I meet him?”

Dean flops onto his back again, breathing loudly, and actually contemplates this idea.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Sammy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so updates are getting to be two or three days apart, I'm just a bit run off my feet at the moment. I hope you are all enjoying it anyway :)

Around a hundred miles away in Missouri, just over the state border, in the St Louis County Police Department, Agent Henriksen slams another photo down on the desk, startling a bewildered, somewhat unconcerned looking man in a dark blue suit.

The man in question, Patrick, sits at the desk, chewing a toothpick idly, and looking up into the seriously pissed off eyes of an FBI Agent who’s spent all night working a case that he’s still getting nowhere with. Patrick decides to indulge his new policeman friend, leaning forwards to examine the newest image, resting atop of other possibles, all of which he has dismissed over the past few hours.

“Nope, s’not him.” He says, playing up his strong Irish lilt because he knows it sets Henriksen’s teeth on edge to have a foreigner as the only willing witness.

“Are you sure?” Agent Henriksen prompts through gritted teeth, his fists clenching because this guy is an asshole, anyone would be able to tell just by looking at him. With his ‘devil-may-care’ handsome features, and his thick, wavy black hair. Even his shirt is undone at the top for Christ’s sake, revealing an obscene glimpse of chest hair, you know in case the female receptionists and prisoners weren’t already riled up enough from his winking and flirting. “You’re absolutely certain, this is neither one of the guys we want?”

“I’m tellin’ ya, I got a good look at ‘em both,” Patrick says, rolling the toothpick in his mouth until it’s poking out of the other side, “heck, one of em pointed a pistol right at me, I won’t be forgettin’ them in a hurry.”

“Alright.” Henriksen says tersely, pulling another photograph out of the folder in his hands and trying not to scream. He was called up in the middle of the night for this case, reports of two robberies in relatively close proximity, two guys working together by the sounds of things, and damn well thinking they can get away with it too, no doubt. It should be easy, hell, one of the places these guys hit – a bank not far from here – had over a dozen witnesses, all held hostages inside while they cleaned the place of its cash. But all of them had zippered shut, refusing to give a statement; seems almost like they’re all a little scared. Well, all of them except this joker, Patrick O’Donelly – the guy that’d apparently restrained one of the two for a moment, before his partner stepped in and pulled the gun again. “Let’s just keep goin’ then.”

He slams another mugshot down in front of Patrick, grimacing at the photo cause he recognises this one – Winchester, held over in Mclennon County for some petty thefts a while back. He dealt with the idiot himself just once, needing to question him, confirm he was the one they were looking for. The man was sarky as hell, thought he was the bee’s knees clearly, joking away, taking the piss out of everything that was said to him.

Little did he know he was looking down the barrel end of his own gun. Mclennon’s a bad place; even Henriksen knows. It’s one of the worst.

The guy is even pulling a face in his mugshot, Henriksen notices, staring for a little too long, his lip curling in disgust. He’s pouting into the camera, his eyes squinted, enjoying every second of his arrest. Henriksen would place a hefty bet that he hasn’t smiled much since he got out of that hell hole.

“Y’know, he looks awful familiar.”

Agent Henriksen’s head snaps up as Patrick says the words, and he grins.

* * *

 

As much as they love it at The Royale, the three of them all agree that they can’t stay there more than a night. They managed to leave the last job and pick up Kevin without attracting attention, sure, and obviously they’ve used a fake name at this fancy-pants hotel, but none of them are stupid, and they are all aware that a robbery, especially an armed bank robbery, is bound to get on some policeman’s radar.

So they pack up their (embarrassingly few) belongings and kiss their luxury suite goodbye, Kevin perhaps mourning the place most, as he told Cas and Dean he’s never stayed anywhere near this nice, and slept on the couch with the television flickering on all night. Dean himself couldn’t believe it when he saw they put one of those fancy machines in their _room_ for Christ’s sake.

Kevin didn’t say a word when Cas and Dean both stumbled out of one bedroom together, half-dressed and looking pretty mussed up. It’s a damn good thing the kid seems so liberal, because the last thing Dean needs is someone backing him up on his ideas that this thing he and Cas are kind-of doing is wrong.

Not that they actually did do much mind, they just fell asleep and slept through till morning, side by side. If Dean woke up with a raging erection and Cas pressing kisses to his neck, that’s his business.

After a quick shower, shave and hunt for the shirt Cas divested him of yesterday, Dean is hurrying them all out of the door, whispering to Kevin to go find the money he hid while he and Cas bring the car around.

* * *

 

“You okay, kid?” Castiel calls into the backseat as they race along the highway, and Kevin leans towards him, smiling.

“Sure am. Where are we headed, anyways?”

Castiel laughs, his cheeks flushed as the wind brushes them. “I don’t know, Dean’s the driver!”

Dean grins at them both, and Cas watches as he studies a sign up ahead, calculating the route in his mind. “Both of you, sit down, shut up and enjoy the ride.”

* * *

 

Fourteen hours, five pit stops and two secret make out sessions in the stalls of a men’s bathroom later, they pull up beside a suburban house in Kermit, Texas. It’s relatively ordinary looking, with large bay windows on all sides that give the strong impression of ‘nothing to hide’. It blends in spectacularly well with the other houses on ‘Heather Crescent’ (Castiel is fighting a vague feeling of nausea at this kind of mundanity again), it’s little porch and surrounding shrubbery making it look like the ultimate family home.

So obviously Castiel is a little confused. This place doesn’t fit with the impression he got of Sam Winchester whatsoever. Dean had described his brother last night as being very similar to him, another charming man with a rakish grin and trouble following the rules.

How does a man like that, a man who has apparently been in jail himself for a small part in a burglary, fit into this picturesque little picket-fence dreamhouse? Castiel looks over at Dean, brow furrowed, and Dean just grins.

“Uh, where are we?” Kevin asks, breaking their staring match, and Castiel laughs because both of them have actually forgotten to tell him, and the kid hasn’t even bothered to ask since the first time.

“C’mon Kev, meet my geek of a brother.” Dean says, opening the driver’s side door and grinning, clearly excited now that they’re here.

Castiel shrugs, hopping out himself, and follows Dean up to the front door. It’s a coral colour, blending nicely with the pastel-theme of the entire neighbourhood, and Castiel itches for one of Gabe’s old firecrackers he used to make, just so he could scratch some of the perfect paint off this lifeless street.

The door swings open, and in it stands the tallest man Castiel has ever seen.

“Dean? Holy hell!” The monster that is presumably Sam cries, a grin stretching his cheeks, and he lunges forwards, wrapping Dean in a tight, warm embrace. “Hey babe, get over here! It’s Dean and-” Sam glances quickly at Cas and Kevin, still smiling as he holds Dean to his chest, “friends!”

They’re ushered inside, Castiel shaking hands with Sam warmly when it’s offered to him, and complimenting him on his ‘lovely home’. Mainly because he wants to find out how he got it.

Sam chuckles, winking at Cas and still grinning away, darting a look at Dean like they’re sharing a secret. “Well thanks, err…”

“Cas.”

“ _Cas.”_ Sam finishes, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes. “It’s not exactly mine, strictly speaking, if you catch my drift.”

Cas smiles back, nodding in understanding, and looks at the hallway he’s standing again with a renewed appreciation. “I see.”

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Sam asks, his expression turning quickly to one of concern. “I just assumed since you were hanging around with my wannabe-gangster of a brother over here that you’d be cool with-”

Dean shoves Sam in the shoulder, making him cry out and rub his arm, chuckling. “Shut up Sammy, Cas doesn’t care about your petty crimes. He’s in the big leagues.”

Dean winks at Cas then, making him blush, and he turns away, towards where Kevin is inspecting a vase on a side table, so that Sam doesn’t see.

A woman enters the room just then, her dark, shiny hair piled up high on her head, with some loose curls falling around her neck and shoulders. Her face is striking, with defined cheekbones and wide, dark lips, making her almost unusual in her extraordinary beauty.

Her hard, chocolate gaze fixes on Sam, her lips pressed shut as she takes in the amount of people in the hallway. “Sam, honey?”

“Oh, Rubes, you’ve met Dean o’course, and this here is Cas and um,” Sam places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, looking over at Kevin and knitting his brows, “sorry, I don’t think I-”

Kevin whirls round, realising he’s being rude, and strides over to Ruby, smiling widely, his hand outstretched to her. She takes it gingerly, eyeing him with barely concealed distaste. Castiel raises his eyebrows at her expression.

“Kevin Tran ma’am!” He exclaims, his eyes roaming over the length of her body quickly, because he’s a young boy, and that’s only to be expected. He leans towards her, winking. “Advanced Placement.”

Sam coughs loudly, sliding his hand round Ruby’s waist. “Guys, this is Ruby, my wife.”

“Great to see you again, bitch.” Dean tells her, grinning as he leans against the wall, and Ruby glares at him, clinging to Sam, venom in her eyes.

“Hey! Dean, c’mon, don’t talk to her like that.” Sam cries, suddenly cross, and Dean rolls his eyes, but nods, acquiescing. “All that stuff is in the past, right? We’re here now, let’s make the most of it.”

“Yeah Dean,” Ruby says, smirking a little as she straightens, pulling free of Sam’s grasp, her hands smoothing down her pleated skirt like she’s brushing off the grime, “we can get along, can’t we?”

Castiel observes the interaction with fascination, wondering why he can feel the loathing for this woman rolling off of Dean with such ferocity. He resolves to ask him about Ruby later, but bears in mind that he shouldn’t allow himself to warm up to her, purely because Dean’s more than likely right if he thinks she’s a bitch.

“What are we all standing in the hallway for?” Sam asks, laughing, and Castiel suspects it’s to break the tension clouding the air. “Let me get you guys some grub, you must be starved.”

Castiel finds himself being coaxed through into the rest of the house, all of it as pristine and vomit-inducingly perfect as the outside and the hall. Sam disappears off into the kitchen, leaving the others with Ruby to find their seats in the living room, with a yell that they’d better make themselves feel at home. Ruby perches on a chair that Castiel can’t help noticing is slightly higher than everyone elses, almost like a throne, allowing her to look down on them just that little bit.

She crosses her legs, her pleats falling in waves around her shapely, bared shins, and tiny pointed heels. She looks like she’s stepped straight out of a magazine, not a hair out of place or stray streak of makeup. Sam really lucked out with her, and Castiel starts to wonder why she’d be interested in someone like him, a delinquent with no hopes of a respectable future. She could get a rich man if she tried, Castiel would bet his life on it.

“So Ruby, how did you and Sam meet?” Castiel asks, sitting beside Dean on one of the couches, Kevin taking his place on the one opposite, picking a candy out of the bowl left conveniently on the coffee table between them. Ruby looks over at Cas, narrowing her heavily made up eyes, and quirks a smile.

“Oh you know, just around.” She replies, her voice careful, glancing over at Dean. “He’s always had my eye really, every girl in Kermit knows that Sam Winchester is the handsomest guy on the block.”

She giggles, and it would probably be convincing if Castiel’s suspicions weren’t already aroused.

“I’m gonna go see if Sammy needs some help.” Dean tells everyone, patting Cas’s knee as he stands up, heading off in the direction he saw Sam disappear into. Cas watches him go, a tad disappointed, but he’s got a fair few more questions for Ruby, because he wants to suss her out, and this is his perfect opportunity. Hopefully Kevin won’t mind.

* * *

 

“Hey Dean, I’m happy to see you and all, but… well, I can’t let you be a dick to Ruby, okay?” Sam says, gesturing for Dean to hand over some more slices of bread for him to butter. “I just can’t. She’s my wife!”

“Sam, you can’t just expect me to forget what she did to you!” Dean cries, flinging a slice of bread so harshly that it hits Sam in the chest and crumbles. “Honestly, I thought I’d be able to control it better, but she just makes me so _mad._ It’s like she doesn’t even regret it-”

“Okay, you know what? You don’t know her, Dean!” Sam shoots back, lathering up the knife he’s using with more vigour than is necessary. “She apologised again and again for that, and you can’t blame her forever! She puts up with a lot of shit from me; I was in _jail_ for a year! And then I escaped, so now we’re in hiding, living in this house that isn’t even ours while the owners are away… it’s gotta be shitty.”

Dean listens, narrowing his eyes at Sam. Does his little brother really expect him to just lie down, hand on his heart, exclaiming ‘oh! Poor Ruby-Wuby!’? “Uh huh, but there’s still some money left over from the burglary right? Some that you hid with her when you got arrested?”

Sam looks at him, slicing some cheese without looking, and nods. “Yeah, so?”

“And if that’s not going on a motel or food, cause you’re using this place, then where’s it going?”

Sam blushes a little, turning his attention back to what he’s doing, preparing endless sandwiches, piling them up on a plate. “Um, well, sometimes I buy Ruby little things… just cause she’s bein’ such a good sport about all this…”

“Right.” Dean interrupts as Sam trails off, still blushing. “So the money’s going on stuff for her! Jesus Sam, are you that blind? Really? She’s a friggin’ gold digger! Get your head outta your a-”

Sam throws the knife down against the countertop with a clatter, a furious, hurt expression in his eyes. “Dean, I’m warning you,” Sam growls, getting up in Dean’s face to emphasise his seriousness, “back the hell off. I’m telling you she’s not like that, and I’m your _brother._ Trust me, man.” Dean stares back, defiant but on the edge of breaking. He couldn’t deny Sam anything. “I actually think you might like her once you spend a little time together.”

Dean says nothing, turning his face as Sam moves away so that he can grimace to himself, quietly. Sam looks up, arranging the last of the sandwiches on the plate, ready to re-enter the war zone.

“Promise me you’ll play nice.” Sam says, and there’s a look on his face that Dean knows immediately means Sam is going to let that bitch come between them. Dean grits his teeth, but nods, agreeing. Sam’s shoulders slump in relief, and he picks up the plate, turning to head out of the kitchen. “Cool. So what’s the deal with Cas? Where’d you find him anyway?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Cas and Kevin stay over at Sam's and learn some interesting things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been just such a ridiculously long time since I updated this fic, but I've been getting more back into the swing of it lately, and I had half this chapter written already so I thought I might as well continue. 
> 
> I'm probably not going to be as ambitious with my update schedule, so I estimate that updates should occur 1-3 times per week, hopefully more towards 2-3 times, and there's no reason I shouldn't be writing as I have lots of spare time now. 
> 
> I'll try my best folks, I just hope you stay with the story and I apologise to anyone left hanging last time.

Kevin, oblivious of everything as usual, gorges himself on Sam’s hastily made sandwiches and promptly falls asleep, sliding down on the couch until his head rests on Sam’s shoulder next to him, making everyone laugh except Ruby.

“I guess you guys are stayin’ here tonight then?” Sam asks, pushing an ashtray towards Dean across the table with his foot, so Kevin wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Looks like.” Dean agrees, lighting up a cigarette absent-mindedly, but he glances at Cas, making sure, and Cas’s heart flutters. “That alright? How many rooms you got in this joint anyhow?”

“Oh, we’ll have plenty of room.” Ruby pipes up, her fingers drumming absently against her knee as she leans back in her chair, watching them closely. “The nice folks who own this house are obviously loaded. There’ll be no need for anyone to squeeze together.”

Ruby smiles, the picture of innocence, but Cas feels it when Dean tenses beside him, hearing something in her words that’s obviously meant for his ears only.

“Yeah, c’mon guys, you’ve been drivin’ all day haven’t you? I’ll show you where you can hit the sack.” Sam says, lifting Kevin off his shoulder carefully, and laying him out on the sofa as he stands, ready to lead the way.

Cas smiles at Sam, deciding once and for all that he really likes the taller, younger, more muscular Winchester a lot. Though he doesn’t knock Dean off first place in Castiel's list of priority-people by any means. He doubts anyone could do that.

He and Dean rise from the couch together, both of them courteously saying goodnight to Ruby as they start to follow Sam through a few doors and then up a flight of stairs. Castiel is obviously extremely disappointed by the sleeping arrangements he’s being provided with, but he knows he can’t let that show, so he graciously thanks Sam when he’s showed his room, giving Dean a mournful parting look before heading inside.

They’re only here for one night, probably. That’s what Dean had said. Seeing Sam was just a necessary detour, to help with Dean’s mental crisis. Soon they’ll be back on the road again, with Kevin sure, but he’s already proved that _he_ doesn’t mind seeing Dean and Cas occasionally paw at each other.

Castiel strips off his clothes, thankful that he’s wearing the vest Dean bought him to go under his suit because he doesn’t have anything else. He’ll just have to sleep in that and his underwear, though he hardly minds. He folds up the suit neatly, still marvelling at its buttery soft texture, and slides in between the covers and the mattress of this glorious double bed he’s been given, the moonlight pouring into its centre from the window on the far wall.

Sleep is there, hovering at the edges of his consciousness; he can feel it, like a soft whisper caressing his skin, but it’s a way off yet, he can tell. So as he waits to be enveloped he thinks of Dean, of course he does, thinks of the beautiful man down the hall, the one who took one look at Castiel and knew he wasn’t like anyone else. The man who whispered a promise of freedom in his ear, told him he looked like a doll, and got Castiel tumbling head over heels after him. 

Dean Winchester; the man who kissed Castiel because he couldn’t help himself, even though his every instinct told him it was a mistake.

Dean Winchester; the man who’s (presumably) lying in a large, mostly empty bed, partially clothed down the hall.

Castiel feels his dick twitch in interest at that last thought, and smiles at himself, amused by his own reaction. He can’t go and see Dean. What if Sam or Ruby see him? But he could be quick… He could dart along the hall, turn the handle of Dean’s door with the utmost sensitivity- wait, he doesn’t know which door Dean is behind. He didn’t stick around to watch where Sam put him. Damn it.

It doesn’t matter; he can imagine it well enough. Dean would be surprised, his eyes like two beacons in the darkness of the room as Castiel shuts the door behind him. He’d make his way over to the bed slowly, taking his time, purposefully trying to make Dean squirm. What if Dean isn’t even wearing a vest? What if, because he thinks nobody will know, he's decided to sleep naked?

Castiel feels how hard he’s getting, and he bites his lip, rolling onto his back to stare at the darkness above him. He trails a hand down his chest even though he knows he shouldn’t, letting his palm smooth across the front of his underwear, exhaling as he feels the ripples of pleasure running through him.

He’d climb over Dean next, brace his arms either side of Dean’s head, just like Dean did to him yesterday in the hotel, bringing their faces close, their bodies aligning…

Castiel hums very quietly as he presses his palm against his erection, rubbing up and down to create the friction he so desperately needs. “Dean…” he whispers into the darkness, and that was an immediate mistake, because now he’s picturing Dean’s hands on him, stroking him through the thin fabric and it’s _torture._

Impatient, and deciding there’s no use turning back now, not with how hard he’s gotten himself with his feverish imaginings, he shoves a hand down his underwear, gripping himself in one fist and starting to stroke slowly, up and down, his mind reeling because it might as well be Dean doing this, he can picture how it would be, right down to the flash of want in those pretty green eyes.

“Cas?”

A whisper, from the other side of the door, and Castiel almost sobs in frustration, because he’s so close, but he can’t continue, not now. His hand pulls free of its movements, and he sits up in bed, straining to hear the voice.

“Cas? You asleep?”

It’s Dean, it’s definitely Dean, and while half of Castiel is jumping for joy, the other half is crying out in protest, begging him to finish what he started. That’s not going to happen with Dean here, the guy’s a way off yet from indulging in any promiscuous activities.

“No, c’mon in.” Castiel replies, his voice quiet just in case anyone save for them is still awake. The door clicks open, and Dean sneaks in, closing it behind him with a breath of relief. They are alone. Castiel tries to hide how wrecked he looks and feels - lucky for him it's too dark for Dean to notice anything amiss. “Sneaking out of your room, Winchester? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Dean grins as he makes his way over to the bed, clad in only a vest and underwear, just the same as Cas, and his erection is crying out in frustration. “Shut up,” Dean says as he slides in beside Castiel, not even damn well asking thank you very much, not that Castiel would have said no, “come lay down. Why’re you all tensed up over there?”

Castiel is hunched on the far side of the bed, his back ramrod straight against the headboard. He flinches away from Dean as the object of his fantasy reaches out his hand, and draws the covers up further around his waist so that Dean won’t see what he’s been doing. “I will. Just… give me a minute.”

Dean frowns, Castiel can see it even in the dark, and continues to reach for Cas, meaning he has to shuffle backwards a little, out of his reach. “What’s wrong?” Dean asks, sitting up a little, resting on his elbow. “You want me to go?”

“No!” Castiel cries, possibly a little too loudly, and Dean raises his eyebrows. “I-I was just…” Castiel sighs, seeing no way out of this. “…thinkin’ bout you.”

Dean’s face is blank, not comprehending, and Castiel lets out a groan, blushing because he’s going to have to spell this out for the idiot or he’s going to think he’s to blame for Castiel’s weird behaviour. He pulls the covers off of his lap with a sigh, averting his eyes, and Dean lowers his gaze to Cas’s tented underwear.

A few long, drawn out seconds pass, and then Cas looks back towards the man beside him, swatting his shoulder immediately when the first thing he sees is a smug smirk twisting his lips.

“Ow! What?!” Dean asks, chuckling as he rubs his arm.

“You’re laughing at me!”

“Am not!” Dean argues, and then grins again. “Okay, well maybe a little.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Oh come on now,” Dean coos, his hand smoothing up Cas’s upper arm and tugging gently, trying to coax him closer, “you clearly like it, don’t you?”

Castiel glares at him, wishing his boner would just fuck off, because that would make arguing with Dean a whole lot easier right now. “ _Asshole.”_

Dean laughs again, but sits up, kneeling on the bed so he can shuffle closer to Cas, slide an arm around his waist, press a kiss to his cheek before he whispers: “Did you really get that worked up thinkin’ bout me?”

Castiel melts into Dean’s embrace, letting the older man place lingering kisses across his neck and jaw, and then he’s nodding before he can help himself. Dean shivers against him in response, Castiel feels it, and the kisses get more fervent, harder, so Castiel turns his head, offering his lips instead, and Dean kisses them hungrily.

“That’s hot Cas.” Dean murmurs against him, and Cas’s breaths start coming in short little gasps as he feels Dean’s hands skimming over his chest, sliding down. He holds his breath, turning his face again so that Dean mouths at the skin where his jaw meets his ear, but Dean’s hands stop at his waist, not daring to go further.

Cas sighs internally; he shouldn’t have expected anything else really. He turns and smiles at Dean, pulling back a little way from his exploring lips. “Yeah well, so are you, Capone.”

Dean smiles back, and he winds his arms further around Cas, pulling him down into an embrace, both of them lying together, Cas’s back pressed against Dean’s chest.

* * *

 

“So what’s the deal with Ruby?” Cas asks, just as Dean’s about to fall into the heavenly embrace of sweet, sweet sleep. He sighs, and Cas wriggles in his arms because the elongated breath tickles against his neck.

“She’s…” Dean contemplates what Sam asked of him earlier, to be nice to Ruby, and decides that he can totally do that to her face, but behind closed doors, who’s going to be any the wiser? Cas definitely needs to know what he’s dealing with in terms of that sour faced harpy. “She’s an utter bitch.”

Cas chuckles, shaking in Dean’s arms. “Yeah, I kinda maybe got the feeling you weren’t too fond of her.” Cas reaches behind him, placing his hand on Dean’s upper thigh, for no apparent reason that Dean can see, not that he’s exactly complaining. “Any particular reason?”

Dean shimmies closer to Cas, pulling him tightly in, and his leg twitches as Cas starts to move his thumb absent-mindedly over the bared skin. “A few years ago, back before me or Sammy went to jail, Ruby was lurking around, flirting and teasing Sam whenever she could. I didn’t really think a lot of it at the time, but Sammy fell hard and fast for that girl.”

Cas makes a ‘hmm’ sound. “That sounds awful familiar.” He’s smiling though, Dean can hear it in his voice.

“They were going steady for a good few months; Sam brought me with him to help pick her out a shiny ring, the whole shebang.” Dean pauses, his body tensing as he remembers the details of the next part of the story. “To cut a long story short, I walked in on her messin’ around with Lucifer, the son of one of the wealthy businessmen in town. Turns out they’d been hookin’ up in the back room of the Texas Moon Tavern practically the whole time Sam had her on his arm. I told Sammy obviously, and he was devastated.”

“That’s awful.” Castiel says, his lips twisting in disgust when he pictures Ruby’s blank stare in his mind. He grips Dean’s hands, wound around his middle. “What happened then?”

“Sammy called it off, heartbroken, poor guy, and Ruby told him she didn’t care anyhow, that she only liked him for the things he bought her, and she wouldn’t have married him for the world.” Dean can feel his own blood boiling, the long ago suppressed hatred for the woman that hurt his brother rearing its ugly head. “She ran off with Lucifer-”

“Wait, hold up, I thought you were kidding!” Castiel interrupts, turning his head as much as he can to try and look back at Dean. “ _Lucifer?”_

Dean laughs, nodding. “Yep. He goes by Luke mostly. But that’s his name.”

“That’s…” Castiel shakes his head in wonder. “Ironic. Sorry, continue.”

Dean grins, leaning forwards to bury his nose in Cas’s hair. “Yeah, well she ran off with him, and I tried to cheer Sammy up however I could, to no avail.” Dean frowns, remembering those times, when his baby brother ever smiling again seemed almost impossible. “Then a few weeks later, Ruby’s back, crying on our doorstep, beggin’ Sam to forgive her. Sayin’ she was misled, that she only said those things to lessen her own pain or some bullshit.”

“So basically, she’s a lying whore.”

“Wow Cas, tell us what you really think.”

Cas laughs, swatting at him. “You were thinking it too.”

“Damn straight.” Dean replies, chuckling. “I told Sam over and over that she couldn’t be trusted, that he should kick her to the kerb cause she’s clearly only back after Lucifer ditched her, probably having found something much better.”

“Let me guess, Sam didn’t listen?”

“I thought he did, cause he agreed at first, but I guess she wore him down.” Dean sighs, defeated, and strokes a hand over Cas’s abdomen. “I never stopped tryin’a tell him though, and that’s where the real trouble started.”

Dean bites his lip, wondering how Cas will react to this next part. He shifts in Dean’s arms, turning over with a little too much wriggling, until they’re face to face, a confused frown wrinkling his features. “Huh?”

“She found out I was tryin’ to break them up somehow, probably through Sam cause she’s a manipulative hussy, and confronted me.” Dean sucks in a breath, remembering it exactly, right down to the scarlet colour of Ruby’s long, prim dress, matching her lipsticked snarl. “She told me she’d seen me with… someone. Someone from downtown that I… knew a little back then. Occasionally messed around with.” Dean forces himself to hold Castiel’s eye. “His name was Benny.”

“Oh.”

“Oh. Right. _Oh.”_ Dean replies, talking fast because he wants to get off this current conversational track. “She basically had me by the short and curlies, cause it don’t take much in Texas for someone to believe you’re queer, just a word from a pretty lady claimin’ to be an eyewitness will do. So I had to back off, leave town, cause she threatened to tell everyone.” Dean lifts his hand off Cas’s waist, bringing it to smooth over his own face. “I got banged up a while later.”

Castiel is very quiet, too quiet really, and Dean studies him, wondering what he’s thinking. “What happened to Benny?”

Of all the things Dean expected to come out of the kid’s mouth, this is not one of them. “I-I don’t know.” He answers honestly; he hasn’t given the guy much thought since, really, other than the passing fond memory of their secret hook-ups and sly, knowing glances across crowded rooms. “I haven’t heard from him since.”

Castiel nods, looking faraway, his mind in places Dean surely can’t reach. He decides to bring his angel back to earth.

“Oh!” Cas says, startled, when Dean kisses him, and then he laughs into Dean’s mouth, kissing back with enthusiasm.

“Ruby is a bitch, you’re right. She’s clearly only with Sam for the money he gets from the jobs he works.”

Cas’s words are a little lost in between their mouths, broken up by soft lips and insistent tongues, but Dean gets the gist of what he’s saying. “Yeah I know, but she makes him happy I guess. I promised him I’d be nice, so…”

Dean trails off as Cas’s hands run up his back, pulling them tighter against each other, and he can feel Cas’s whole body aligned with his; the guy’s still hard, even after all this time, and it scares Dean a little, his paranoid fucked-up thoughts creeping in at the fringes of his mind, but he pushes them back, focusing on Cas, how he feels under his hands, and on how right it all feels.

“ _I_ don’t have to be nice though, right?” Cas asks, grinning as Dean kisses his lower lip, and Dean wonders if he’ll ever not be aroused by the mischievous glint in Cas’s eyes.

* * *

 

Dean wakes in the early hours of morning with his face pressed against Cas’s neck, curls of ebony hair tickling his nose. He fights off a sneeze as he disentangles himself, being deliberate and slow in his movements because he doesn’t want tow wake Cas up, not when he looks so peaceful. So gorgeous.

He slides out of the covers, padding softly over to the door. He steals one last lingering look at his dreaming Angel before slipping out into the hall – it would look suspicious after all if he was seen coming out of Cas’s room in the morning. Not that he knows for sure Sammy would even care that Dean is… but best not to risk it, he thinks.

He’s tiptoeing back down the hall, nearly at his door, when he feels it. A pair of eyes, cold and hard, watching him steal away. He freezes in his tracks, a cold sweat breaking free of every pore. The name flashes across his mind before he even turns to see. _Ruby_.

She’s there alright when Dean turns towards the sensation, her almond eyes wide and utterly unfeeling. She clutches a glass of milk in her sharply manicured claw, obviously having just gone to retrieve it. She’s deceptively innocent-looking in her white nightgown, her chocolate hair tumbling in loose curls down her back.

She’s seen him, Dean thinks, seen him coming from Cas’s room, clad in only undergarments. What does this mean? Will she say something? It’s _Ruby,_ of course she’ll say something. Heck, it's not like it's the first time. He stares into her eyes, a deer caught in the headlights of his own Coupé. She smiles, just a quirk of her lip, barely anything at all. Dean sees though, and as she walks away, back to curl up beside his little brother, he feels sick to stomach.

* * *

 

The morning is going pretty well until Sam goes to get the morning paper from the front step. Dean gets up and actively shoves down all thoughts of the night before and Ruby’s stupid, smug pointed face. He'd glances in the mirror, smirks at his own appearance - hey, he knows he looks good - and heads downstairs, suit-clad and hair-slicked, to get breakfast.

Sam has the frying well underway  by the time Dean gets there: eggs, bacon, sausages, the whole lot – Dean has never been more pleased to see his baby brother.

“This place came with a fully-stocked fridge!” Winks Sam, stylishly flipping a fried egg as if it were a pancake. “Might as well use it.”

Dean can’t agree more, and holds out his plate in eager anticipation. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day after all. That’s when the thud against the front door signals the paper arriving.

“I’ll just grab the paper.” Sam tells Dean, grinning at his brother’s crestfallen face as he realises he’ll have to wait another few minutes for Sam to return and serve him food.

Dean waits anxiously, stomach growling at him, which of course is when Ruby decides to swoop into the kitchen, her long skirt flowing around her stockinged calves, hair pinned to perfection, a knowing glint in her eye as she says good morning.

“Morning.” Dean replies gruffly, out of courtesy to Sam because he said he’d try and be nice.

He wonders where Cas has got to, smiling to himself when he thinks the adorable idjit is probably still asleep, dead to the world after all their shenanigans last night. Plus the guy’s _own_ shenanigans before Dean had even got there.

 He notices Ruby staring as she makes coffee for herself, and the smile drops off of Dean’s face. Luckily, at that moment, Sam re-enters the room.

“Oh my God!”

Dean whips his head around to Sam, instantly on high-alert, every muscle in his body taut and ready to fight. “What?!”

Sam brandishes a paper in front of Dean’s face, his face the epitome of giddy surprise. “Get this, Dean! You’re famous!”

Dean furrows his brow and snatches the paper from Sam, studying the front page. A photo of himself, posing like the reckless, devil-may-care, funny-guy twat he used to be – before prison – stares back at him, his lips pursed and eyes screwed in a ridiculous pout, holding a plate with his name printed on and thinking it didn’t matter. Quite the mugshot, blue steel.

It takes Dean a moment of staring at the photograph of himself with regret and disdain before he remembers that this is a _newspaper_ he’s holding. He blinks, eyes darting to the headline.

‘POLICE BEGIN NATIONWIDE SEARCH FOR EX-CONVICT BANK ROBBER’

“Aw, well that’s just great.” Dean complains loudly, swatting at the paper. He’s on the front page for Christ’s sake! _Again._ There’s a whole two-page article about him, apparently some suicidal idiot has ratted him out- hold up. He skims the first paragraph, brimming with fury.

‘The search has commenced for notorious gun-slinger ex-convict of McLennon County Jail, Dean Winchester, 26. Last seen July 10th in St Joseph, Missouri where Winchester and an unknown companion stormed into the family-run Farmer’s State Bank, terrorising customers with a pistol and getting away with $300 in cash. Police are working to confirm the identity of Dean’s possible partner-in-crime, the black-haired, blue-eyed young rapscallion that, according to witnesses, assisted…’

Dean stops reading. This isn’t funny anymore; they’ve noticed Cas. Some eejit has blabbed about his… friend? His bank-robber-buddy? His cuddle-companion? Dean’s not even gonna try and put a label on that relationship. As if he’s heard Dean calling his name aloud in his thoughts, Cas enters the room, smiling away, looking all damn pretty and sleep-ruffled as usual.

“Mornin’.” He says, his pastel pink lips stretched into a warm smile as he sees Dean sitting at the table. Now, Dean’s all of a sudden in a foul mood, but how could anyone resist smiling back at that?

“Hey Cas.” He replies softly, and then Ruby coughs, turning his attention back to the paper at once.

“What’s all that, then?” Cas asks, gesturing at the paper in Dean’s hands as he sits down. Sam finally serves Dean a plate of breakfast, so Dean hands the paper to Cas, not thinking about it. “Is that- woah.”

Dean glances up, his mouth full of bacon as he watches Cas’s eyebrows lift. His friend is staring at the article, mouth parted, eyes wide.

“Cas, it’s okay man, they don’t know shit-” Dean starts to say.

“We’re in the _paper!_ ” Cas practically shouts, his face lighting up with glee.

Sam chuckles from over by the stove, and Ruby rolls her eyes in scorn. Dean can’t help but grin around his food at Cas’s adorable expression. The kid’s actually excited to see his name in print. Man, he sure is easy to please.

“Shucks, I’ve always wanted my name in the paper. This is a great day already.”

Dean laughs at him, slapping him on the shoulder. “Little weirdo.”

“What?” Cas asks him, chuckling. “The most notoriety I got in my town was bein’ the kid in the diner who puts extra salt in your French fries if you ask him sweet enough.”

He doesn’t mention his past reputation of being the town rebel with Gabriel. That was a long time ago, Dean would only laugh at his and his old best friend’s stupid japes. They were nothing compared to what he and Dean are doing now.

“Say, where’s Kevin?” Sam asks, a puzzled crease in his brow as he nonchalantly hands Cas a plate of steaming breakfast. Dean’s heart flips at Sam’s casual acceptance of Sam into their fucked-up family, making hi breakfast without even asking. Sam rolls his eyes when nobody answers him, and switches off the stove.

“Woah, thanks Sam!” Cas says, delighted, as he takes in the amount of food in front of him with hungry eyes.

“If you lot are quite finished making the most obvious mess in this house we’re squatting in and eating all the food…” Pipes up Ruby out of nowhere, a lit cigarette in a long holder trapped between her thin, scarlet-clawed fingers. “…don’t you think it might be an idea to get the fuck out of here?”

Dean rolls his eyes and forces himself to say nothing. Cas stares at Ruby levelly; she drags on her cigarette.

“Rubes, sweetie, give us a minute, we’re not in any hurry-” Starts Sam, but Ruby glares at him, cutting him off.

“Not in a _hurry?_ ” Ruby practically hisses at her husband. “In case you hadn’t noticed Sam, you’ve let two wanted criminals into our home, which - let me remind you – isn’t even our home in the first place!”

Sam flushes, looking down. Dean is immediately disgusted to the point of being put off his food. The hold this bitch has on his brother, it’s vile.

“They’re not gonna cause trouble-”

Ruby cuts Sam off again, “Oh, really? Cause I’m sure everyone on this goddamned street has seen the stolen car out front by now, the very same one that’s described,” Ruby gets to her feet and snatches the newspaper out of Cas’s hands without looking at him, glancing down at the article, “right here as a: “four-cylinder blue, convertible Ford Coupé with Texas plates.”

Sam looks sheepish. He brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Rubes…”

“We have to go.”

Sam looks at his wife, her cheeks ever-so-slightly flushed with the exertion of yelling at them all. She is clearly not backing down on this.

Sam turns to Dean helplessly. “Dean, I think she’s right.”

Dean says nothing to Sam, his lips pressing together, trying desperately not to scream. They all look up, surprised, at the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen. A thoroughly bedraggled looking Kevin stands in the doorway, yawning as he rakes a hand through his shaggy hair. He’s appears to have forgotten all clothing except for his vest and boxers; Ruby looks disgusted and sits down again, turning her concentration to her coffee.

“Aw man!” Kevin complains, looking almost heartbroken as he surveys the kitchen. “I miss breakfast?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby's a bitch, Sam can't find his balls, Cas and Dean try to carve out alone time, and Kevin... sleeps, mostly.

They hit the road not long after Kevin is fed, eating the remains of what the actual owners of 430 Heather Crescent have in their fridge. There’s five of them now, so it’s a bit of a squeeze, but they’ve all wordlessly accepted that they’re living the criminal lifestyle and that means travelling light. Well, all of them have except _Ruby,_ who insists on cramming her bulky, buckled, polished leather suitcase (Dean tries not to imagine her batting her lashes at Sam to get it for her) in with them. It’s probably chock-a-block with the trinkets Sam’s buying for her whenever she gets pissy with him, Dean thinks sourly.

“So, where to?” Cas asks, smiling away, somehow managing to be happy at just being permitted the front seat next to him, Dean thinks in amazement.

Dean had insisted on driving despite the fact they’ve ‘employed’ Kevin for that particular job, and yeah, he may have insisted on Cas being up front with him too, because Ruby’s driving him a little nuts, and he needs something to keep him grounded. It’s lucky for him that the three in the back of the car can’t see Cas’s hand resting not-so-innocently on his inner-thigh.

Dean turns to Cas. “Well,” he begins, glancing at the others in the backseat, “there’s a few more of us, and I’d say we need a place to hole up in for a while.”

“Outside of Texas.” Ruby says, and it’s practically a command. Dean grits his teeth, but nods.

“Yeah, sure.” He comforts himself with the knowledge that Ruby is crammed in the back, stuck between his gigantor of a brother and Kevin, his legs spread wide and gaze still unabashed as he stares at Ruby’s figure – he’s just a kid after all. “We’ll hole up somewhere over the next state line. Cas, be a peach, get me that map we was usin’ earlier?”

Cas jumps to it, happy to please Dean in whatever way he can, and opens the map up wide. “We’re headed for Oklahoma.”

Dean marvels at Cas for a second, blinking. Heck, he hadn’t even had to ask, Cas just knew what he wanted to know. He grins, and Cas looks up, surprised. “You’re a doll.”

He fails to notice Ruby, her large brown eyes watching every one of their movements, two planet-wide saucers in the rearview mirror.

* * *

 

They drive for a long time before they find anywhere suitable. Ruby insists that they can’t stay in a hotel or anywhere that they could be recognised because Dean has ‘gone and got himself a front page news story’ and apparently that means they’re in imminent danger.

The car is hot and cramped, everyone is irritable and ready to snap at the first person who dares break the stony silence when Dean notices he’s passing another state line.

“Shit, how long we been driving anyhow?” He asks aloud, craning his neck back to try and squint at the sign. He doesn’t even know where they are. “Cas?”

Castiel lets out a heavy, annoyed sigh, his head cupped in one hand as he tries to feel the breeze from the open window. “We’re in Missouri. Again.”

Okay, so Cas is pissed. Dean doesn’t like that at all; Cas is his responsibility, he’s the one that brought him along for adventure and mayhem and running from the law like he’s always wanted. He wants Cas to be happy, always, and it’s all the fault of that snippy harlot in the back seat that he’s not right now.

If she’d just shut her mouth about _one_ of the many, many places they’d driven past as they made their way across Oklahoma, just accepted that - given their situation – _one_ of these places would do. But no, she’d bitched, she’d picked holes, she’d batted her lashes or scowled at “Sammy-baby” until Dean was ready to start throwing punches. His baby brother had the tolerance and stamina of the fucking Great Wall of China, putting up with Ruby’s endless bullshit.

Cas leans closer to Dean, and his body suddenly feels strange; tingly and warm on one side, the side nearest Cas, and he finds it somewhat difficult to concentrate on the road all of a sudden.

“Dean,” Cas whispers, keeping his voice below the hushed, staccato conversation Sam and Ruby are having in the back, “next place we see, we’re stopping.”

Dean smirks a little, loving Cas’s new ‘authoritative’ streak. Dean still knows fully well that if he didn’t want that, Cas would back down no questions asked, but it’s nice to hear the kid filling out his brand new shiny shoes a bit.

Dean nods at him, catching his eye and winking. Cas smiles.

They drive for maybe half an hour more, the highlight of that period in time being when Kevin falls asleep on Ruby’s shoulder, and she shoves him off with such force that he face plants into the back of Cas’s seat.

“Alright!” Dean says, grinning as he pulls his baby through a narrow dirt road, trees arching overhead, a leafy, towering tunnel, swallowing their car as they drive further in. “This looks promising.”

“ _What?!_ ” Ruby cries, peering out of the windows in obvious disgust. “I am not sleeping in the woods like some animal-”

“Nah, sweetheart.” Dean interrupts, and just like he predicted, the tree-tunnel opens up into a courtyard, revealing a fairly dilapidated but still liveable house, its paint-peeled, weather-beaten exterior simply adding to its charm. In his opinion, anyway. “Got you your own palace, see?”

Cas frowns, and Dean tries not to completely love the way he knows it’s because he called someone else ‘sweetheart’. He secretly puts his hand on Cas’s, stroking his thumb over the kid’s soft skin. Cas cheers up immediately.

Ruby pouts, looking at Dean as if he were mad. “And what the Hell makes you think I would stay here willingly?” Dean might now have noticed if he weren’t so attuned to his brother, but he sees Sam’s shoulders sag, defeated again. “This…” She peers out of the window over Kevin’s lap. “ _…place_ is practically abandoned. It’s unsanitary, unsafe, _disgusting_ and-”

“Well, y’know what, Princess?” Cas pipes up out of nowhere, loud enough to drown out the rest of whatever Ruby was going to say. He laughs bitterly, turning to face her. “You’re not leaving us with a whole lotta options here! We can’t stay in hotels, motels, B & B’s, can’t squat in another occupied house apparently cause according to your brilliant plan we gotta ‘lay low’. So what’s your perfect suggestion, huh?" He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for an answer. Ruby just stares, mouth open wide. Cas chuckles, leaning towards her a little. "Maybe the woods is lookin’ a little better to you now? Well, by all means Rubes, hitch up your skirts and hike through the brambles but me- I’m gonna hole up in our new _awesome_ hideout.”

He turns away from her shell-shocked expression, back to Dean, and grins widely. Dean looks at Cas, dumbfounded, his heart pounding. The guy is so damn unpredictable Dean doesn’t know how to deal with it. It’s beautiful, such a rarity to find someone who will literally never stop surprising you in the absolute best of ways.

“Sam, a-are you gonna just… Are you honestly gonna let him talk to me like that!?” Ruby cries, near hysterical, but Dean’s not paying attention, he’s too busy staring into Cas’s wild eyes, marvelling at what a find he is.

Sam clears his throat, and to his surprise, Dean hears a door opening back there. “Come on Ruby, we’re all tired and this place is as good as any… let’s just… come on inside.”

Sam gets out of the car without another word; Cas immediately rushes to follow, to inspect their new lodgings. “My bro’s right, sourpuss.” Dean says to Ruby, locking eyes with her in the rearview mirror and smirking a little. “You comin’ Kev?”

Kevin nods excitedly, scrambling out of the car, jostling Ruby a little in the process so her face darkens even further. Dean gets out too, stretching his limbs after the long drive. He makes sure he slams his door shut just a little bit too hard seeing as Ruby is still sat in the car, too angry to move apparently.

He strides inside the house, eager too, funnily enough, to find where they’ll all be staying tonight. No way he and Cas are doing the whole ‘separate rooms’ thing again.

* * *

 

It’s the next morning, as Cas and Dean are lying in bed – well, on a double mattress on the floor of this house they’ve found – that they decide to pull another job.

“Might as well.” Cas says, leaning over and grabbing one of Dean’s cigarettes out of his jacket, strewn across a threadbare armchair with peculiar stains. “We can never have too much, and we spent a lot already. That suite at The Royale was not cheap.”

“Plus now we got Ruby…” Dean says bitterly, holding out his hand until Cas rolls his eyes and gets Dean a cigarette too. Oops, he thinks, and matches. “…It’s sure as Hell not gonna be cheap livin’ with her and keeping her quiet.”

Cas strikes a match and places his cigarette between his lips. “So we hit up a place in town tomorrow... maybe with Kevin-”

“And Sam.” Dean adds, stealing the matchbook from Cas’s unresisting fingers. Cas stares, confused as Dean looks away, concentrating on lighting his cigarette and taking a first, long pull.

“Sam?” Cas prompts. “Why’s he gotta come?”

“Because I miss him, okay?” Dean snaps, and then looks ashamed of his own words. He glances at Cas’s expression. Cas raises his eyebrows in an ‘I-shouldn’t-have-asked’ kind of way, staring steadfastedly at the ceiling. Dean sighs, sitting up more fully so that his back is against the wall. Cas lies beside him, on his back, staring up into his nervously darting eyes. “He’s good at this stuff, alright? He’s… well, he’s not as good as me I’ll give you that, but still good. And I wanna get him away from Ruby for a bit, y’know? I feel like there’s nothing of him left, like she’s devoured him. I wanna make sure that’s not true.”

Cas places a soft hand on Dean’s shoulder. The guy is shaking, clearly working himself into a state. “Hey,” Cas says softly, “I’m all for that, but maybe we should do this first one on our own. Ruby’s already got it out for us, we don’t wanna give her any reason to… I don’t know. She probably couldn’t do anything much, but from the sounds of her past actions, she’s someone you don’t wanna fuck with.”

Dean had informed him of Ruby seeing him sneak out of the room they stayed in last night. Cas wouldn’t admit it to Dean, the guy was way too paranoid already, but he was a little concerned. Ruby clearly has no inhibitions about screwing people over, is she's left to draw her own conclusions about him and Dean, even with the little information she's got already, she could potentially destroy them. 

Dean takes a deep drag on his cigarette, and Castiel watches, his hungry eyes tracking the puff of Dean’s chest as his lungs fill with nicotine, smoke pouring out of his mouth in tendrils. His head spins a little; Dean is so miraculously beautiful. It’s actually scary how much Cas knows he is invested in this messed-up relationship of sorts they’ve got already.

“Yeah, you’re prob’ly right.” Dean admits, apparently having mulled Cas’s words over in his mind. “We should take him sometime though. He’s damn good.”

Cas smiles, nodding. “Well sure…” He looks up at Dean shyly, through the jet black fan of his girlish lashes, trying to use his feminine charm on Dean, because he knows it’s easier for him that way. He moves then, shifting until he’s sitting up, gets on his knees beside Dean because he can’t help it, the covers falling away from his naked skin. He’s wearing boxers, but nothing else; he feels Dean’s stare like a burn searing into flesh. “But… well, I kinda wanted you to myself this once.”

Dean licks his lips, and Cas drinks it up, knowing he has to savour the moments Dean lets his ‘straight as they come’ mask slip off. Dean seems totally unconcerned by his sexuality right now though, apparently unable to keep himself from staring as Cas inches closer, pressing hot skin against skin, slightly sticking due to the heat, the proximity of their thrumming bodies. Dean’s not faring much better in terms of the whole ‘keeping his clothes on’ thing. _Damn cocktease,_ Cas thinks to himself, smirking because he doesn’t mean it.

In fact, he’s all for Dean getting comfortable enough to decide he can forgo his vest… Heck, maybe his boxers will go next.

A knock at the door, just as Cas is contemplating how to straddle Dean’s lap without him freaking out.

“Uh, Dean?” It’s Sam, calling from the other side of the door, and immediately Dean’s body tenses up, he freezes as though he’s been caught mid-heist and pushes Cas away from him.

“Ow, _nice_.” Cas complains, trying not to be hurt by Dean’s actions. He’s just a bit jumpy that’s all. Cas can kiss the homophobia out of him, he reckons, just give it time.

“Get back over there!” Dean hisses, pulling the covers up around him as he pushes Cas again, trying to get him out of the bed.

“Geez!” Cas says, standing up, a little wobbly still from their almost-make-out session. “Touchy.”

He sidles back over to the mattress on the other side of the room as casually as possible, knowing it will make Dean squirm. Last night they’d gotten away with sleeping in the same room by dragging two of the three mattresses they found around the place (Kevin said he didn’t mind crashing on the falling apart couch – the kid’s a Godsend, truly) into one of the rooms. So at least it looked kind of like they were sleeping in separate beds.

In all honesty though, thinks Cas as he climbs back under the filthy blanket in ‘his’ bed, he’s pretty sure that the majority of their little ‘gang’ realise the deal with him and Dean by now, or at least partly do. Ruby saw Dean sneak out of Cas’s room after all, and Kevin’s almost definitely seen/heard them making out multiple times. So that just leaves Sam, and hey, the guy’s not _stupid._ The five of them spent all of yesterday crammed in a small car, he’s bound to have picked up on something, even if it was just to ward off the boredom.

“Dean?” Sam calls again, and Dean stubs out his cigarette, looking nervous. He glances at Cas, making sure he’s securely in his own bed, and then at the space where he was lying a moment ago, smoothing the covers out so it looks un-slept in.

Cas rolls his eyes, facing the wall so Dean won’t see. If Dean wants to keep up the pretence for Sam, let him. He’ll realise eventually that he’s being an idiot.

“Yeah Sammy, come on in.” Dean replies at last, and a few seconds later, the door opens cautiously. Sam looks no smaller without his suit jacket on, which is strange. He peers into the room, clocking Dean and Cas atop their separate mattresses, and blinks. “Uh, I was just wonderin’ if you guys… uh, wanted anything? I’m running out to the shop so…”

“You’re what?” Dean asks, sitting up straighter to stare at Sam. “Wasn’t the whole point of staying here that we should hide out for a couple days?”

Sam averts his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, yeah but… we gotta eat, Dean. There’s no food in this place. Plus…” Sam’s hand travels up to rub the back of his neck; Cas knows what’s coming next and he smiles, anticipating Dean’s reaction. “…Ruby’s got a couple of requests, so-”

“Oh for Christ’s sake.” Dean’s already not listening to the rest of what Sam is saying, Cas is sure. He grins, lying on his side as he watches the brothers from across the room. “Are you freakin’ kidding me, Sam? She wants you to go buy her shit, huh? This is fucking ridiculous, you need to get some control.”

“Hey!” Sam cries indignantly. “Look, you can’t talk about her like that, I’ve told you before Dean, it’s not cool. You might not like it but she’s here and she’s with me and I’m the only one who has to deal with anything she does. She hasn’t done anything to you since we got here, nothing at all – meaning this doesn’t concern you. Period.”

Sam slams the door behind him as he stalks out, not waiting for a reply, not that Dean lets out more than a huff of air, signifying his surprise at Sam’s outburst more than anything.

Cas sighs loudly so that Dean will look at him. “Man, I wanted him to pick me up some cherry pops.”

* * *

 

By the time Cas emerges from what he has officially dubbed his and Dean’s bedroom, Dean is packing a bag, throwing in some knives that Castiel has only seen appear once or twice, a change of clothes, a hat and some cologne. His colt is securely tucked into the waistband of his pants; Cas can see the outline of the smooth, sturdy metal straining against the fabric.

“What’s goin’ on?” Cas asks, smiling at the concentration crease in Dean’s brow.

Dean glances up at where he’s leaning in the doorway; Cas is only slightly offended that he doesn’t get a smile. “Packing.” Dean replies helpfully. “You and me? We’re gonna pull a job. Right now.”

Cas’s mouth opens a little in surprise, but he swallows it quickly, not wanting to appear caught off-guard. “What’s the plan?”

Dean does shoot him a smile then, quick and tight, but enough for Cas to know that his easy-going, no-questions attitude is appreciated.

“There’s a bank a couple’ miles east of here, but I’m thinkin’ we save that until we’re fully prepped.” Cas nods at Dean’s words, knowing he means Sam. “So I’m thinkin’ we drive up there anyhow, scope the joint out, maybe hit a couple o’bars and retail stores on the drive back.”

Cas nods, surveying Dean warily. “We takin’ Kev?”

Dean pauses in his packing, obviously having not thought this part through. He seems to think for a few seconds. “Nah. He’ll weigh us down.” Dean says at length, and continues packing. After a few moments he pauses again, and Cas notices his cheeks pinkening. “Plus… I kinda wanna get away from everyone else y’know? You and me… we’re good when we’re together. Alone together, I mean.”

Cas smirks; Dean doesn’t see because he’s purposefully not looking at Cas, concentrating instead on buckling the bag shut. Dean is saying he misses being alone with Cas, it’s the best news Castiel has had all morning. And hey, it’s not even ten thirty.

“Well, sounds good to me.” Cas says cheerily, still smiling, and Dean looks up at him. Cas turns, about to head back in their room and change into his suit, but thinks about it, turns back to Dean, and winks. “Partner.”

Dean rolls his eyes but his blush gives him away, Cas can see right through that bad-boy exterior. He heads into the room and closes the door. Not all the way though. Dean has to know he can come in if he wants. Anytime.

* * *

 

They have to wait for Ruby and Sam to return from ‘shopping’ before they can set off for the job because they have the car, the fuckers. Dean is pissed about this, and he makes sure Cas knows it every two minutes more that they’ve been left waiting.

Kevin eventually awakens and gets off of the sofa, meaning at least there’s a place to sit down, but it also means that Dean has to remove his hands from underneath Cas’s shirt or untangle his fingers from the unruly mess of onyx hair he has piled on his head whenever Kevin walks into a room. This doesn’t make the waiting situation any easier, though it does seem to amuse Cas, which Dean supposes is a bit of a bonus.

Eventually, once Dean has finally tossed aside his pride and agreed to play Monopoly with Kevin and Cas – who incidentally keeps pinching and yelling at Dean for cheating; of course he’s going to steal money from the bank, hello? – they hear the familiar squelch of tyres on gravel, along with Ruby’s grating, incessant chirping filtering in through the broken window panes.

Dean sits up a little from where he’s sprawled on the floor and watches the door as Sam bursts in, laden with brown paper grocery bags, Ruby in tow, nothing but a tiny silver purse clutched in her talons. He snarls at her, and she narrows her eyes but says nothing.

“Hey guys, whatcha doin’?” Sam asks, a little out of breath from lugging the groceries up the stairs. “Playin’ a board game? Awesome! Can me and Rubes get in on this?”

“You can play in our places.” Dean replies for Kevin, standing up and brushing the dust off his suit. “Cas and I are headed out.”

Sam dumps the bags down on a rickety looking table that squeals under the strain and fixes Dean with a soft glare. Ah, thinks Dean, he’s still mad about earlier then. “Is that right?”

Ruby sidles up to Sam’s side, wrapping her arm round his waist like an insipid snake. “Just you and Cas?” She asks, her voice laced with hidden implications that only Dean can hear. “Where are you guys goin?”

Cas gets up then, probably feeling the waves emanating off of Dean’s body, signalling that he needs back up – Cas is that good. “We’re goin’ to… look around town.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, feeling his confidence return to him as Cas walks over to his side, “we figure if you’re allowed to go rootin around lookin’ for trinkets, we might as well take a browse ourelves.” Ruby’s glare turns to stone at Dean’s words. “’Sides, it’s too hot and cramped in here. Can’t stand bein’ cooped up can we, darl- uh- Cas?”

Dean’s stomach drops a little at the sound of his own mouth forming the almost-endearment, but he tries to skim over it, and purposefully avoids Ruby’s eye.

“Yeah well, be careful.” Sam says stiffly. “Ruby’s right, your face is in the news Dean. Don’t do somethin’ stupid.”

Dean winks at his little brother. “Me? Never.”

* * *

 

They drive out towards the next town, Dean having gotten his information from the map they’ve been using.

“It’s called Golden East Bank.” Dean says, grinning as the wind whips at his hair, happy to be out on the road again. With Cas. “Golden! Isn’t that just kismet?”

Cas grins back at him, and Dean feels easy letting his arm fall around the kid’s shoulders. There’s nothing like this. Dean wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“Wait, hold up…” Cas says suddenly, turning towards Dean. “I thought we weren’t hitting the bank today?”

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, well I just figured why not? The weather’s great, you’re here, we’ve got our hideout…” Dean turns to him, eyebrows raised. He decides to omit the part about Sam getting him so riled up with his parting comment that he's decided to do something big and dangerous _flawlessly_ just to prove himself. “Why wait?”

“Uh, cause someone could recognise you-”

“Oh, don’t you start.” Dean mutters, rolling his eyes. “Look, so they recognise me. What’s the difference? What are they gonna do – call the cops? They’d do that anyway if I gave them a chance to dial. Are the cops gonna get there any faster if they say it’s the notorious Dean Winchester and not just some rookie one-time robber- oh. Sorry, Cas. Didn’t mean it like that.”

Cas shrugs, looking away and tapping his fingers on the door. “I guess you’re right.”

“Damn straight I am!” Dean cries, and he grabs Cas’s chin, pulling the kid to face him again, one-handed. “Listen, I’ve done all this shit, man. I’ve been in the papers! It’s all a publicity stunt- those fuckers in The Times or whatever, they just want an exciting story. Half the time what they print ain’t even half-true! They’ll get eye-witnesses swearin’ I’m in fuckin Florida robbin’ banks up there just so they got some no-gooder to blame it on. If anything it’s a _good_ thing that they’re printin’ about us. It’s like a – whaddyacallit – red herring. Yeah, they’re not gonna find us by readin’ headlines, man.”

* * *

 

Cas doesn’t want to say what’s running through his mind, but he feels like if he doesn’t ask now, he’ll never know, and this is a damn good opportunity.

“So how come they found you the first time, then? How’d you wind up in jail?”

Cas waits with baited breath, noticing the car slows a little and Dean himself looks like he’s had the air knocked clean out of his lungs. The older man blinks a few times at the empty road ahead, then turns to Cas, his face taut. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then snaps it shut.

Cas watches as he turns back to the front, pulling the car swiftly into a lay-by overhung with tall, looming trees. Cas braces himself for the worst, and Dean turns to face him. He looks angry, but that’s to be expected, Cas is used to that by now. There’s something underneath it, something like fear.

“Cas, you don’t know, man.” Dean says through gritted teeth, his voice lower than usual. “You wanna know about my jail time? Fine. But it ain’t a pretty story.”

Cas nods hesitantly, reaching for Dean’s hand, but he snatches it away, turning and leaning back in his seat, eyes closed.

“Me and Sam we… we used to work jobs together sometimes. A lot actually.” Dean pauses, shaking his head against the leather of the seat. “I don’t know why I’m playin’ it down, we used to be a team, and a damn good one too. Our Dad, John, he was a crook, brought us up in it. Gave us our own guns on our tenth birthdays, taught us to shoot, the whole shebang. We’d always head far enough outta town that the places we hit couldn’t be traced back to us. We were smart about it, y’know?”

“I thought you said your Daddy was never around?” Cas asks, only interrupting because he’s confused.

“Yeah, well,” Dean laughs humourlessly, “when I say he taught us to shoot and brought us up to be crooks, that in no way means he brought us up in any real way whatsoever really. I remember him teachin’ me to shoot bottles on a fence when I was maybe six or seven. I hit a bullseye on every one, and you know what he said?”

Dean looks to him, and Cas realises he’s supposed to answer. He shakes his head.

“It’s a damn good thing you’re a good shot, son, cause you got nothin’ else goin’ for you that’s for damn sure.” Dean’s lip curls in distaste, remembering. “He was drunk o’course.”

“He sounds like an asshole.” Cas states, and then his eyes flick to Dean. “Sorry. It’s not my place to say that.”

“No, no he… I guess he was.” Dean says, and he looks confused at his own words, as if he’s never figured it out before quite so plainly. “Anyway, so me and Sam are youngsters, I'm twenty-three, he's just nineteen. We hit this grocery store a few towns over, and before we know it we’re surrounded. Someone called the damn cops on us. Must’ve been ahead of time too, cause there’s no way anyone in that place got to a phone. I had them all at gunpoint.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “Huh. That’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly, “if I ever found out who it was…”

Cas doesn’t ask what the end of that sentence was. He’s not sure he wants to know. “What happened then?”

“I told Sam to leg it but he wouldn’t, so I grabbed the gun off him, and when the cops asked what happened, I swore blind that I pulled Sam into it, forced him to do it. That he didn’t even have a gun.” Dean sighs, bringing a hand up to smooth over his slicked hair. “Didn’t work though. Well, I managed to get him sent to a better place than McLennon’s at least but I was hoping to cut down his time.”

“That’s…I can’t believe you did that for him.” Cas marvels, eyes wide. “That’s incredible, Dean.”

Dean shrugs again. “He’s my little brother, y’know? I love him, the son of a bitch.”

Cas grins. “So, what about jail? Tell me what it’s like in there.”

Dean’s eyes fly open and his face fills with something like terror. Cas feels his stomach flip; that was not the right question to ask. Dean doesn’t say anything, and Cas desperately tries to think of something to distract him from the memories that are obviously flashing through his tortured mind.

“Hell, Cas.” Dean whispers at long last, and when he turns his face, there are tears in his eyes. “It’s Hell.”

* * *

 

Cas insists that Dean let him charge into the bank first, and maybe that’s where things started to go wrong, he thinks, in hindsight.

It starts off pretty well. He shouts, “alright folks, get on your knees, and not in the kinky way. This is a stick up,” and they do! Cas likes to think it was his authoritative, gravelly voice they responded to, not the gun in his hands (another pistol, one of Dean’s old ones apparently). There were some whimpers, some wails, and a glorious heroic dash to the door that some joker tried to make before Cas shot a hole in the wall just in front of him.

“Nice try.” Cas says earnestly to the trembling man, henceforth referred to as ‘the hero’.

He tilts his head at the hero, grinning as he lifts his hands in surrender, wide eyes fixed on the smoking barrel of the gun pointed at him. Dean bursts in then, pushing both double doors open with a grin twisting  his lips.

“Alright partner?” He says in acknowledgement to Cas, and draws out his own pistol, twirling it stylishly round one finger by hooking it through the trigger before catching it in a swift motion and pointing it at the very upset looking bank clerk. “You. Sweet eyes. Load up this bag with cash would'ya, kitten?.”

He chucks the rucksack Cas hadn’t even noticed before now at her, and she does nothing, just stands motionless, staring at it.

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, stepping closer to her, keeping his gun steady, “I don’t wanna use this, and I don’t have to if you do as we say." He pauses, letting the gravity of his words sink into her fear-addled mind. She eventually whimpers softly, perhaps showing she understands. "Now load up the bag, capiche?”

She stares at him, terrified, and lifts her shaking fingers to the cash register in front of her. Cas tries not to shiver with glee at Dean’s casual use of the pronoun ‘we’. They’re really a team now. A criminal duo.

“C-Castiel?” He freezes. That is not Dean’s voice speaking his name. It’s female, breathy and terrified. He turns slowly, stomach plummeting, his heart hammering wildly.

He almost drops his gun when he sees her, not believing his own eyes. How can she be here? How is this happening? What are the chances?

“Rachel…” Cas says, and it’s barely a murmur. Her blonde hair falls in messy strands out of her hat. She stares at him like he’s a monster, like she’s about to vomit. “What… How are you here?”

Dean doesn’t turn to see what’s happening, but he does toss Cas a very quick glance, a ‘what the fuck?’ look before turning his attention back to the girl filling the bag. Cas doesn’t answer him, he’s in shock.

“Castiel, what are you doing?” Rachel asks, her voice desperate, terrified. “I’m so scared…”

Castiel’s fingers loosen without his permission, reacting to the plea in her voice, and he drops his gun. He hears it clatter to the linoleum floor, the smack of it hitting the ground sickeningly loud in the hushed room. That’s all it takes. Two seconds and it's over. Everything is gone, every opportunity, every moment with Dean that could have been his. He feels his body liquifying, his legs wobbling as he struggles to stand. His fault, all his fault, shouldn’t allow himself to feel… anything.

Seeing the gunless criminal, his partner preoccupied with the bank clerk, the hero steals the golden opportunity and legs it, making it to the door just before Cas can run to him, restrain him, tackle him, anything.

"I'll get help!" The hero cries to the hostages, his feet slipping slightly on the shiny floor but not falling, no matter how much Cas wills it. He makes it, this _catalyst_ of pure disaster, and he’s out the door, yelling so loud that they can hear him from inside."It's a robbery! There's two guys in there, they're robbin' the place- Oh thank God, Officer!"

_“Shit!”_ Dean yells and steps closer to the girl, pushing her away from the bag, sending notes fluttering and not seeming to care. She screams a little but is clearly not hurt. Cas grabs his gun, but it’s too late he knows. Dean grabs the half-filled bag, turning to Cas in a desperate flurry.

They barely have a moment to look at each other before they’re forced to run, the sound of police outside coming thick and fast. They run into a back room, some kind of office, and thank _God_ it has a window, a big one, wide enough for them to crawl through even if it is pretty high off the ground.

No matter, they stand on the desk and Cas flings it open, heart pounding, pushing Dean through, the bag of cash after him. He lands in a hedge, clambering out of the scrub quickly, snatching up the bag and holding out his arms for Cas. For a weird moment, Castiel thinks of Romeo and Juliet, the balcony scene - Dean is waiting below, arms outstretched, a twisted parody of the famous tragedy. What does this mean for their story, Cas thinks absently, not having much time to mull it over before Dean is hissing at him to hurry the fuck up. He pulls himself further up onto the ledge, squeezing his upper body through the tiny space when he feels it. Just like that, he knows it's all over. The hand clamped onto his leg is firm, unyielding, and Cas tries once or twice to shake it, but knows deep down it's to no avail. 

At least they didn't get him, Cas thinks.

“Fuck!” He yells, and Dean’s eyes go wide, the blood draining from his face as he realises what the situation is. “Dean they’ve got me, get out of here!”

The window is high enough that the Police can’t see Dean, only Cas, and he's so grateful. They can't arrest him from in here, by the time they get round to where Dean is, he'll be long gone. Except that he's not running away. Cas frowns. 

Dean looks pissed off at Cas’s words, grabbing his hand fiercely, trying to tug Cas through the window, though there are several Police hands on him by now. “Cas I am not leaving you-”

“This isn’t a fucking choice, Dean! Go!” At that moment he’s pulled sharply, arms wrestling him to the floor, stripping him of his gun, feeling him all over for any other concealed weapons.

Cas hears a vague “shit!” from outside, and then, thankfully, running footsteps, fading into the distance. He smiles to himself, even as he feels the cuffs fastening around his wrists, digging into his flesh. He keeps smiling as the cops manhandle him, as they hit him and kick him to get him through the bank and out to the car. The smile doesn’t fade when he’s shoved into the back of the car, but he does see Rachel again. She’s watching the whole thing, her face confused, upset.

She’s never going to understand, Cas thinks in wonder, as he drives away. Nobody will.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is in jail. Dean's not having any of it.

“Shit, shit SHIT!” Dean yells in greeting as he storms through the front door and up the stairs into their little hideaway.

“Hi to you too.” Sam says sarcastically, a fan of playing cards in his hands as he lays sprawled on the sofa. "Can you keep it down a little? Ruby's asleep."

Dean throws the bag onto the floor, bills immediately flying everywhere, over the floor, one or two even landing on Sam and Kevin.

“They took him. They TOOK CAS!” Dean yells, his hands carding through his hair, mussing up his coiffure. “I- I couldn’t- aaah.”

Dean sits down on the floor, burying his face in his hands.

“Woah, what?!” Sam asks, getting up, letting his cards fall to the floor, mixing with the stolen money. “Dean what did you guys _do_?!”

“We hit up that bank a while away, okay?” Dean snaps in response, rocking himself, knees hugged to his chest. “It- It went wrong, Cas got distracted, we fucked up- the cops got him, Sammy.”

Sam inhales sharply. “Fuck, Dean…”

Kevin sits up slowly, his fingers reaching to collect the bills all around him one at a time. “Holy- you stole all this cash?”

Dean ignores him. “Sammy, what do we do? It’s all my fault, I couldn’t save him. I have to get him out, how?!”

Sam shakes his head pityingly, crouching to Dean’s level, placing a careful arm around his shoulders. “Dean, you and I know better than anyone that it can’t be done.”

“Bullshit!” Dean cries, standing up suddenly, knocking Sam backwards a little way. “He’s not been officially sentenced yet, he’s probably being held in the local joint.”

“What does that have to do with-”

“Sam, I swear to God, if you don’t help me with this I will never talk to you again.” Dean spits, his eyes wild. “It’s my fault Cas is even _here_. I basically dragged him into this, I’m at fault, and- and you’re my goddamned brother so you are obligated to help me fix my screw ups.”

Sam stares at Dean like he’s seeing him in a whole new light. “You really care about him this much?”

Dean looks at Sam for a long time. It takes him a full minute to gather the courage and swallow his pride, but eventually he manages a small nod.

Sam breathes out heavily. “Alright.” Dean almost falls to his knees with relief. “We’re gonna need something to pick a lock with.”

* * *

 

Castiel aches all over. His head is resting against the cold wooden desk in front of him, his hands cuffed to it, ensuring his imprisonment – as if he were under any illusion he could get out of here anyway. He must have been here for hours, though he has no way of measuring the time since the room is void of clocks, just like it’s void of everything else. If the bare, damp brick walls around him are designed to break the spirits of criminals like himself, he supposes they’re doing an excellent job.

He closes his eyes against the desk, letting his mind swim with happier images, of Dean. He manages a smile when he thinks of how Dean got away, how he and the others are probably revelling in their successful heist right now, planning what to do with all of that delicious stolen cash.

A noise sounds, the first he’s heard in a long time, a crash accompanied by loud voices, muffled by the thick door, bolted from the outside, sealing Castiel in. He lifts his head and listens curiously, trying to make out what’s being said. Not for any real reason other than boredom, he already knows he’s screwed after all.

“The kid… won’t see the outside for ten years if I… is he talk… have you…”

There’s one voice louder than the rest, an authority figure definitely, Castiel thinks, but he can only pick out bits and pieces of what he’s saying. The man is talking about _him_ though, Cas thinks, and he can’t help the spasm of thrill that goes through him. No doubt about it now, he’s a true criminal, a big enough one to get the cops in a tizzy. At least he achieved that much.

Suddenly the bolt is slid backwards, and Castiel hears the locks being turned. He sits back in his chair, slouching a little, assuming his failsafe ‘don’t give a fuck’ expression, smirking slightly, ready to face the enemy at long last. Hell, this bit will be more exciting than the last however many hours of endless waiting.

The door flies open, and there stands a man, his skin dark, his glaring eyes a confusing contrast to the grin on his lips. Castiel tries not to react, staying in the same position.

“Well, well.” The man says, standing tall in the doorway, filling his space, like a an animal of prey puffing out its chest, Cas thinks. “Castiel, is it?”

Cas doesn’t reply, just watches through calculating eyes as the man crosses towards him, two Police Officers pulling the door shut behind him. He takes the empty chair opposite Castiel, the other side of the desk, leaning his forearms on the wooden surface before him.

“Not a big talker, huh?” He asks Cas.

“I’ll talk if you got something worthwhile to ask me.” Cas replies smoothly, proud of himself for not letting his voice wobble.

“Well, Castiel-no-last-name, how about this.” The man says, and Castiel braces himself. “Where the _fuck_ is Dean Winchester?”

Despite himself, the expletive shocks Cas, as does the force this guy puts behind it. It betrays him a little though, thinks Cas, he must be really desperate to catch Dean.

Castiel waits a moment, gathering himself, not wanting to give himself away by replying too fast. He shrugs. “Who?”

* * *

 

Agent Victor Henrikson likes to think he’s a level-headed guy. As a matter of fact he is renowned for staying cool when questioning perps, being the one to drive _them_ to an explosive outburst. During this case though, he can’t seem to help losing control. Every time his mind flashes back to a couple of years ago, to the _hours_ he spent with that Winchester, at the point of insanity trying to get him to confess, to rat out his brother, and just getting more wisecracks, more idiotic responses. He can’t stand it.

Even though this kid in front of him isn’t Dean, the mere thought that he’s been _working_ with the guy pisses him off, he can’t keep his anger in check. He jumps out of his chair, sending it flying backwards, clattering across the floor. He slams his hands down on the desk, his palms smarting with the force. To his credit, the kid manages to keep relatively calm, raising his eyebrows a little, but not freaking out as some first-time offenders might.

“Don’t even fuckin’ _try_ it, pretty boy.” Henrikson yells. “We know it all, we fuckin’ _heard_ you when you were half out that window, callin’ out ‘Dean, they’ve got me! Get out of here!’”

Castiel looks a little uncomfortable then, averting his eyes. Henrikson mentally high fives himself; the kid’s all but admitted it now, just gotta reel him in. Just then however, the kid turns back, and he’s right back to staring into two twinkling, unfazed eyes. “Heard me yourself, did ya?”

Henrikson’s lip curls. Damn it. The kid’s not stupid, then. He’s picked up on the fact that he’s not one of the guys that caught him. Who knows what else he’s picked up? Does Castiel here know that he’s an FBI Agent, working the case? Only in this sorry-ass Missouri joint because someone called him here from Texas, where he’d got an anonymous tip-off Dean was hiding.

“Alright smartass.” Henrikson says, calmer now, sitting back in his seat. “Let’s just talk for a sec. You and Dean, you’re partners right? I get it. You don’t wanna rat him out. But how about this – I can cut you a deal.”

Castiel smirks, shaking his head and looking to the left wall. “Oh, can you?”

Henrikson isn’t perturbed. Every man has his price. “Uh huh. You’re goin’ to jail, there’s no doubt about that. But I can cut down your time, easy. I just gotta say that you’re an unwilling accomplice, that you barely knew what you were doin’. That it was all Dean’s idea.”

Castiel laughs, turning to look scornfully at Victor.

“I know,” Henrikson says, chuckling too, at which point Cas immediately stops, “you and I know that’s not true, right? But these idjits?” Victor jabs a thumb at the door behind him. “They don’t gotta know. I can make it so you’re a free man again in one year. Maybe less.” He pauses for effect, staring into Castiel’s steadfastly unimpressed eyes. “All you gotta do is tell me where he is.”

Castiel breathes out heavily, his brow creasing. He seems to be contemplating the offer. “Less than a year?”

Henrikson grins. Gotcha.

Of course he can’t really get this guy off in less than a year, he robbed a bank for fuck’s sake, two in fact, held hostages at gunpoint, nearly shot one. He’s going away for a while. “I guarantee.”

Castiel chews his lip, a pained expression gracing his features. Henrikson holds his breath in anticipation. This is the part he loves; the scumbag selling out his friend. Castiel meets Victor’s eyes, defeated and unsure. He beckons Henrikson closer, so Victor complies, staying in character as the good cop for now, leaning forwards to hear Castiel’s confession. Cas leans in, his lips hovering by Victor’s ear.

“You can go fuck yourself, pig.” Castiel whispers, and when Victor leans back, shocked, the kid actually spits in his face. Henrikson snarls, wiping his face in disgust. “I’ll never tell you where he is. You can do what the fuck you want to me, you will never _ever_ catch him.”

Castiel is grinning now, pleased with himself, and Victor can feel nothing but burning hot liquid anger, flooding through his veins, pooling behind his eye sockets, making him see viscous, bold red.

“You fuckin’ idiot,” Henrikson hisses at Castiel’s smiling face, “you’re gonna rot in here, I’ll make damn sure of it!”

He gets up then, throwing his chair across the room where it clangs as it hits the stone wall. He pounds his fist on the door, the signal for the guys on the other side to open up, and storms out, not looking back. Let the kid stay silent, he doesn’t need some sorry-ass partner in crime stupid enough to get himself cuffed on his second job. He’ll find Winchester on his own goddamn it, if it’s the last thing he does that boy will be cold in his grave.

* * *

 

It’s only later, as Castiel comes down from the incredible adrenaline rush of spitting a wad at that douchebag Agent back there, that he thinks about his situation. The hopelessness of it.

“Fuck.” He says to himself, the word bouncing off of the cold, bare walls of his holding cell, where he’ll be until they get the paperwork ready to send him over to a real prison. The kind that gave _Dean Winchester_ nightmares terrible enough that he still can't speak about his experience. He swallows, not letting himself dwell on it.

It’s hard not to dwell though, in prison. There’s not a whole lot to occupy your time. Night falls, unforgiving and totally dark. If he were a more superstitious guy he might be afraid; he’s pretty sure he’s all alone in this place now, save for maybe a night guard or two. He mostly thinks of Dean, his rich earthy scent, the feel of his petal soft lips, his miles of tanned, golden skin. Now that he has time to himself, now that time seems to have come to a startling halt and he’s hopped off the crazy Winchester Express he can’t believe he was ever so lucky. Dean has easily been the greatest thing that ever happened to him, and what’s more, Dean _wanted_ him, _chose_ him out of everyone else, _liked_ having him around. He can’t believe he had that. He can’t believe he let it go.

He doesn’t sleep, not really. There’s only a hard bench in this cell, getting the least bit comfortable is practically out of the question. So he stares instead at the tiny barred window high up off the floor, the only source of light as the moonlight filters in. A small square illuminated on the opposite wall.

The next day is no better, just the same endless waiting. He does get fed eventually, a meagre meal of hard, tough bread and some kind of cold, oily stew. He asks one of the younger guards, an Officer fresh out of training - Joe, Castiel learns - if he’d slip Cas a thimble of whiskey. He gets a faint smile out of the guy, but nothing more.

After a long while, he allows himself to think of what went wrong at the heist. What happened to him. Rachel. He sighs, turning to scrape something into the wall with his shirt button. It fell off when they kicked him in here.

Cas doesn’t have a family. Not like other people do anyway. His mama grew up dirt poor, never learned a thing, never managed to get herself a job. She turned to liquor like most of the poor do, and Cas- Cas was just a baby when they found her dead, drowned in her own sorrows. His first memories are of the orphanage he grew up in, Enochian Place. It was a tiny cramped house with a tinier bedroom (not dissimilar to this, Cas thinks drearily), run by stern, bitter old nuns, their faces deeply creased by the frowns they wore constantly.

The only thing that made any of it bearable was Rachel. She lived across the hall, in the separate bedroom where the girls slept. Boys and girls were usually, as a rule, kept apart, but Castiel knew the tricks just like all of them did. Knew when the nuns would take their naps or go into the chapel for a prayer session.

He and Rachel were closer than anyone for those first few years. They must have only been about seven, Castiel thinks; the memories are blurred around the edges now, the faces of the other children in the Orphanage generic and almost featureless. Rachel was a quiet girl, pretty and smiley, always happy to play. She loved Castiel for his wild streak, daring him to do what seemed like horrifically dangerous things at the time – steal crackers from the kitchen, sneak into the girls’ room and hide amongst them to fool the nuns when they came to switch out the light. Rachel would never do any of it herself, she was too good. Castiel loved her anyway though, because she’d hug him, she’d squeeze his hand and dry his tears when he felt the despair, the hopelessness that he's found only Dean can cure. She’d do it in secret because they were best friends. Right up to the end.

God, what must she have thought? Seeing Castiel in the bank, she'd looked so... afraid.

There’s a noise then, a sort of faint commotion from down the hall. His cell is at the end of a corridor, the only one in this tiny precinct, he’s the only prisoner too. Apparently there aren't a whole lot of criminals needing overnight jail time in this Missouri town. He doesn't even know the name of the place he's banged up, Cas thinks moodily. He turns to the slate-grey wall beside him, surprised to see two scratches carved into the brick, half a third near-completion. Can that be right? Has he been in here three days? The noises sound again, louder this time, closer. He’s lying on his back on the only hard wooden bench in the tiny room, but at the sound of an occurrence, he lifts his head, sitting up slightly, resting on his elbows.

“Sir, I can’t let you just wander in-”

Castiel cocks his head, trying to hold his breath in order to hear better. “Oh don’t mind me gorgeous, I’m only here for you.”

It’s Dean. Castiel damn near faints, but he’s totally sure, he could pick that peppery voice out of a crowd of thousands. What’s he saying though, Castiel thinks; he can’t help but feel the familiar twist of jealousy coiling in his gut as he hears the smirk lacing Dean’s sugary endearments, not directed at him.

“I-I…” The other man who is not Dean is saying. His voice is younger, innocent-sounding. Naive. He’s stammering under the full-force of Dean’s thousand-watt smile close up no doubt. “I don't know that you...”

“Awesome.” Dean says quickly, and Cas would give his left arm right now to be able to see Dean’s face. “I like you, Joe.”

Ah, Cas thinks, of course it's Joe. The twisting jealousy tightens around his gut. It's nonsensical, he knows, he should be over the moon that Dean is even here... he can't help it.

“H-how do you know my name?”

Dean chuckles, low and heavy. “Well, it’s on your badge there, brown eyes.”

“Ah…yeah…”

Cas is staring so hard at the bars on his door that he’s sure they’re about to melt under his gaze, and all at once Sam is there, enormous and oh-so beautiful, the best damn sight Cas has seen in what feels like forever. He lets his head fall back, nearly crying in relief, and Sam motions for him to stay quiet as Dean pours more sultry words into Officer Joe’s ear.

Sam brings out two pieces of thin wire from his back pocket, Castiel watching, entranced, as the younger Winchester inserts them carefully into the thick, heavy steel lock securing his prison bars shut.

“Damn, you get your own handcuffs when you work here?” Dean’s voice filters down the corridor, Castiel grits his teeth and tries hard to ignore it. Distraction technique or not, he’s not happy about the flirting. Insecure about his sexuality, huh? Right. “Cute.”

“Uh, well yes, to catch uh- uh- criminals and- Oh! Please don- don’t touch them, Sir that is Police property-”

“Relax Joe, I’m just lookin’.” Dean says calmly in response to the sound of the Officer’s protestations. Cas can hear the sly grin slanting his voice. “Say, these are nice. You could get up to some real kinky stuff with these babies, huh Joe?”

Sam wrinkles his nose and makes a disgusted sound as he jams the pieces of wire into the lock repeatedly. Clearly Dean’s words are doing nothing for him. Cas wishes he could say the same. He wonders absently if Dean can get his hands on a pair of cuffs for later use.

“Cas!” Sam is hissing at him, probably has been for a while, Cas thinks sheepishly, and he focuses his attention on the Winchester in front of him. “Come on, man concentrate. I think I got it, but we gotta wait for Dean to-”

“HEY! What are you- No! Wait- you bastard, you _tricked_ me!” It’s Joe, suddenly furious, and Cas’s eyes widen; what has Dean done?

“Oh,” Sam says, shrugging, “look at that, he’s done.”

“Sorry darlin’, I don’t swing that way.” Dean replies to Joe, and then seems to pause. “Not for you, anyway.”

“Release me at once! I will arrest you for... for tricking an Officer of the Law!” Joe cries indignantly, and Castiel aches to see. He’s pressing his face against the bars, wishing he could squeeze his head through.

"Yeah, good luck with that, kid." Just then, Dean strolls into view, knocking Cas backwards with his presence alone. He grins at Cas, twirling a set of keys round on his index finger. “Alright there, Angel?”

Castiel grins back, clutching at the bars, sure he looks fucking ridiculous but unable to keep from being totally, utterly ecstatic. Dean is here. The person he thought he’d never see again is springing him from his confines. Again. “Can’t complain.”

Dean pushes Sam to one side, his eyes not leaving Cas’s. “Move aside Sammy, I’ll free the damsel in distress.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Whatever, not like I did all the lock picking or anything.” He scoffs as Cas and Dean fail to react. “I’ll go bring the car around, shall I?”

As he leaves, Dean glances at his retreating footsteps. Joe’s anguished cries can still be heard from down the hall, and Cas’s fucked up mind likens it to his and Dean’s own brand of romantic background music.

“Hey.” Dean says softly through the bars, their faces close, unable to touch thanks to the thick metal poles.

“Hey.” Cas replies, his heart stuttering. He wasn’t going to get this back. He was so sure.

“So, uh, I’m Dean Winchester.” Dean says, and Castiel raises his eyebrows. “I’m here to rescue you.”

Castiel grins and puts his hand to his forehead, miming a swoon as Dean throws open the door, all theatricality and nonsense, because he too is elated, Cas can see it in his twinkling eyes. Dean stands in the doorway of the cell, holding out his hand, oh so inviting. Cas wants to savour the moment their skin meets again for the first time. He flaps his hand over his heart, still revelling in their game of pretend, and reaches out, not moving from his spot a foot away, his arm the only thing extending towards Dean. Dean grasps his hand and pulls sharply, sending Cas flying into his warm, broad chest.

Castiel bites his lip, forcing himself to look up slowly, knowing that the proximity of Dean’s eyes will be too much to bear after so long apart. Dean’s smiling at him, a hint of mischief in his smirk. All at once, Dean is moving fast, arms swooping, and then Cas’s feet are no longer touching the floor. Dean has scooped him up, carrying him like a groom would a fresh, virgin bride, and together they stroll back down the corridor, Dean winking at Joe as they pass him. Cas laughs as he sees the untucked shirt, the handcuffs securing poor Joe in place. Cas doesn’t blame the guy, he knows that if their positions were reversed, he’d have ended up the exact same way.

They have to go down a flight of stairs to get to the exit of the prison – obviously they go out a back entrance, they are wanted criminals after all – but Dean manages it, Cas in his arms as if he weighed no more than a bundle of cash after a job. He kicks open the door, stepping out into the cool night air, the moon enormous and full, splashing its light onto the gravel of the precinct car park. Cas grips Dean, his arms tightening around his shoulders, barely even registering that Sam isn't here yet. Dean smiles, turning to Cas, and carefully sets him down. He finds himself being turned to face Dean, the other man's hands on his shoulders, their faces close.

“Cas I…” Dean starts to say, trailing off and looking down. He looks as if he’s… guilty. How strange. “I don’t know what to say, man. I tried everything I could to get you out.” He glances back up. His chartreuse eyes are shiny with tears, glinting with the light of the moon. “And hey, I didn’t leave you, right? I’ve got you now, I-I swear I’ll never let it happen again, I-”

Dean breaks off, pressing his lips together as he takes in Castiel’s face. Cas tries to think of what to say. Dean thinks this is _his_ fault? He’s speechless. This was a lot of people’s fault – his, Victor Henrikson’s, the Police Officer’s who’d been strolling outside the bank at the time, Rachel’s – but _Dean’s_? He did everything right. He’s the expert after all. His only mistake was betting on Cas, maybe. Then there wouldn’t have been all this trouble, thinks Cas, though he doesn’t want to. No, this is _his_ fault, he’s the one that dropped the damn gun, that got too cocky, that took it all for granted-

All of a sudden Dean is kissing him, breaking his trail of thought, the kisses fervent and full of need, his hands carding through Cas’s hair, biting at his lips, stroking the thin, sensitive skin with his tongue.

Cas is all on board, of course he is, so he kisses back, letting his lips linger, sensing that Dean needs to know that Cas is here again, that he’s back, that he’s safe. Very softly, almost lost between their mouths, he whispers, “I missed you, Capone.”

* * *

 

Despite Dean’s protestations, Cas insists on plunging straight back into the deep end, and he forces Dean out the door to another hit a grocery store a few miles away. Kevin drives this time upon Dean’s request; he wants to try and make this one go as smoothly as possible. Just in and out, Cas can get his confidence back, they won’t make too big of a splash, and they’ll be back in the hideout by sundown.

If anything it’s _Dean_ who’s acting nervously during the robbery itself, feeling jittery and glancing at the door every two seconds. Cas does most of the work, and he’s a natural, he really is, though Dean might have to give him lessons on how to properly hold his gun. He’s so deliciously arrogant, a real sarcastic jerk as he robs the place dry, and Dean tries not to love it, but it’s hopeless, he’s exactly the same. Cas does it better though, he thinks privately. It’s probably the element of surprise; no one would expect it of him, he looks so innocent.

They get the cash and some groceries (Dean had a pie craving) and make it out the door into the waiting car with no troubles whatsoever. Cas whoops and cheers as they drive away, on a high from the adrenaline; Dean would be too, normally, but he’s too damn nervous. He can’t shake the feeling that everything’s about to go wrong, that Cas will be taken from him again. He leans forward to where Cas is sitting in the passenger seat, grabbing hold of his hand so he’ll turn. Kevin glances at them, but quickly refocuses on the road, sensing this is a private moment.

“C’mere, would’ya?” Dean says, and Cas’s wide grin settles into an expression of understanding. They’re going pretty damn fast, Kev is one Hell of a find in terms of getaway drivers, but Cas doesn’t seem to care, he stands in his seat, not even wobbling, and clambers into the back, landing half on Dean’s lap, laughing.

“Shit, sorry, lemme just-”

Dean doesn’t give him the chance to position himself, he hooks his arms around Cas’s waist, pulling the skinny idiot across his lap and pushing him down so he’s half lying across the back seat. Dean leans over him, not lying exactly, just bringing himself close enough to Cas that he can see the flecks of cerulean in those cobalt eyes, hear the laboured breaths he’s making now that Dean’s face is so near.

“Cas,” Dean begins quietly so Kevin won’t hear; he’s not altogether sure of what’s going to come tumbling from his lips, but he knows Cas underneath him like this is taking the edge off that gnawing dread in his stomach, and that’s something, “when things… when shit hit the fan back there, back in Golden East…” Cas’s eyes are wide and wondering – very distracting – and they can’t seem to stop flicking between Dean’s own eyes and his mouth. “I- I thought I’d lost you, man.”

Cas’s arms are upon him the moment he says the words, soothing, understanding, but Dean brushes shrugs him off, making a frustrated noise. Yeah, he was terrified, and he was fucking upset at the idea he’d lose this, of course he was, words don’t even describe it. Sam had to physically restrain him at times from throwing the plan they created to free him out the window. He was so close to abandoning the idea of waiting for Officer Joe to be on shift alone that night, from just running into that damn precinct, Colt in hand, and busting Cas out however he could or dying in the process. So yeah he was upset, _is_ upset even, but more than that, he feels _angry._ Angry at himself for being so incredibly fucking stupid. For wasting the precious little time he has with this incredible find of a person, a soulmate in every sense of the word.

What the fuck does it even matter about Sam, or Ruby or anyone else that puts two and two together about him and this gorgeous creature below him? Why has he been caring so much about his sexuality, his inclinations- Hell, can he really kid himself any longer? He wants Cas, only Cas, he’s pretty damn sure he’s already ruined for anyone else.

Cas is staring up at him as the thoughts race through Dean’s brain. He looks wary, as if he’s trying to work out Dean’s mood. Dean quirks a smile and kisses him, their heads ducked below the doors and front seat, so no one can see, not that Dean particularly even cares. Cas makes a happy noise and kisses back enthusiastically, looping his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him closer, pressing their chests against each other.

Dean forces his mind to go blank then, letting his hands and mouth do what they want for a change, rather than using all his willpower to keep them in safe areas. His fingers skim lightly down Cas’s sides, brushing over each crease in the papery fabric of his shirt. Cas removed his jacket a while ago, so it’s just the shirt, Dean thinks, imagining the skin beneath.

I don’t want to imagine, Dean thinks simply, and allows his hands to pull Cas’s shirt free of where it’s tucked into his pants. Cas stops kissing for a second, staring at Dean in surprise, gasping when he feels Dean’s hands sliding under the shirt, fingers dancing over his ribs. Cas’s head jerks to the side as Dean’s hands slip teasingly just under his belt, so Dean turns his attention to Cas’s neck, kissing the smooth, unblemished skin there, then mouthing against it, biting down because he so badly wants to possess, to mark, to claim.

Even in the way they’re positioned, Dean can feel Cas getting hard underneath him, and it’s suddenly not terrifying, it’s just incredible. Dean feels like his blood is boiling in his veins, like it’s fizzing, vibrating through him. He wants more; his fingers are slipping the buttons of Cas’s shirt through their holes as if they have a mind of their own. Cas starts to push against him lightly, small whimpering sounds coming from his mouth. He wants to stop? _Why,_ Dean thinks, and then everything goes quiet.

Kevin has stopped the car, the engine has been turned off, and Dean sits up a little. They’re home. Shit. He looks down at Cas, who is wearing an expression that is equal parts horny and annoyed. There’s a hint of amusement in there too though, so Dean reckons he’s okay. Cas is completely dishevelled though, his hair a birds nest, his shirt hanging open, several rapidly reddening hickeys blooming on his neck.

Dean chuckles softly, opening his mouth to speak, but Kevin interrupts. Dean keeps forgetting he’s even here.

“Um, so I’m gonna go inside.” Kevin states loudly, not turning around. “Want me to take the bags?”

“Yeah, sure Kev.” Cas replies, and bless the idiot he sounds completely fucked out.

Kevin grabs the bags so fast Dean swears he blinks and they’re gone, then he’s out of the car, stalking towards the house, very purposefully not looking back at Dean and Cas.

Cas laughs, a little dreamily. “Woah, Winchester… what the fuck?”

Dean looks down at Cas again, taking in the aftermath of what he did. He feels the anger swelling up inside him again, the need to do what he should have done the first time he and Cas even met. He rakes his gaze over Cas’s body, filling himself with hunger.

“We’re going inside, right now.” Dean tells Cas firmly, and grabs him by the wrist, pulling him up as he stands himself.

Cas laughs, letting himself be pulled along, trying to fasten his shirt back up with one hand. Well, they can give Ruby something to dwell on at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will almost definitely be updating tomorrow as long as my Wifi is installed in my new flat as planned! Also, make sure you stick around for it as things get quite (very) steamy in the next chapter ;) 
> 
> Thanks for reading so far, everyone. Hope you're all enjoying!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Feel sorta clumsy... I guess I'm rusty, ain't done this since God knows when."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not posting when I originally said, I've had a lot of trouble setting up an internet connection but hopefully it will be sorted out this week and then updates will be more regular. Not that there is a long long way to go with this story now however, haha! 
> 
> Here's a sexy visual reference to help you along with a, uh, certain part of this chapter ;)   
> http://fallforcastiel.tumblr.com/post/91373306673
> 
> Love to you all, hope everyone's still enjoying - thank you all for your lovely comments. Enjoy.

Irritatingly, Dean has to wait until the evening before he can get Cas underneath him again. His whole body feels like it’s itching, but no amount of scratching can possibly cure it. He needs Cas, needs to feel his physical presence beneath his hands, his lips, everywhere. And sure, last night he coiled around Cas like a cobra, clinging to him in case he disappeared again – much to Cas’s amusement – but this is a different need. An urge, low and burning, simmering in his chest, wanting him to pounce.

Sam waylays him before he can make it to the bedroom with Cas after the heist, congratulating them both on a job well done, and telling Dean to come help make dinner for everyone with the spoils. This is no easy task considering the ‘groceries’ they picked up were pears (Cas fancied them), a mound of suspicious looking cheese, a few hard-looking potatoes, apple pie and a loaf of bread, but they managed it somehow, eventually settling on making cheesy potato omelettes with the leftover eggs from the dozen Sam picked up a few days earlier, with bread and butter on the side.

Dean is so distracted during the entire dinner-making process that he beats an egg still in its shell, burns himself three times, and overcooks one of the omelettes before Sam takes over. It’s hardly his fault that Cas keeps strutting about the place, nearly _naked_ for Christ’s sake because he decided to test out the outdoor shower. The first time he saunters in, clad in nothing but semi-soaked boxers and his shirt, which clings to his damp skin, that’s when Dean burns himself the first time. He doesn’t get dressed either, replying to Ruby’s disgusted remarks that he washed his suit too, and that it’s drying.

He lounges on the sofa, limbs splayed; Ruby actually leaves the room and that’s just an added bonus. He’ll look up every so often to link eyes with Dean, fanning himself softly with his cards (he and Kevin have started up a new game), winking and blowing kisses whenever he can get away with it. The delicious, wet-haired, dripping, half-naked bastard knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to Dean too, knows full well he’s being a damn tease. Though, Dean supposes, maybe he deserves to have the tables turned on him. Cas has been pretty fuckin’ patient, and Dean knows he wants to take things further; Hell, it wasn’t long ago he walked in on Cas doing the one-handed tango, picturing Dean all the while.

He grits his teeth and bears the torment, beads of sweat dripping down his neck with the exhaustion of having to keep his libido relatively in check. Dinner is a fast meal, they’re all pretty ravenous, even Ruby finishes her plate, but Dean is easily the first one to gobble down his omelette. Cas however, is by far the last. He picks through his food, Dean squirming in his seat, having long conversations with Sam about the Winchester childhood between each mouthful. It gets to a point where the wait has become ridiculous and Dean feels like if Cas doesn’t finish soon he’s going to jump on him right fucking now in the middle of the living room. Just then, Cas pushes the plate away, stretching slightly, avoiding Dean’s eye.

“Say, anyone fancy a whiskey?” Cas asks, and Dean can’t believe his ears. He stands up, shaking his head; he’s had enough of this now, he needs bedtime.

“Nope. Tonight is not the night for whiskey.” Dean says firmly, walking around the table and grabbing Cas’s wrist, pulling him out of his chair. Cas grins at him, loving every second of Dean’s impatience.

“Actually I wouldn’t mind a glass of-”

“TONIGHT IS NOT THE NIGHT FOR WHISKEY, KEVIN.” Dean shouts, and Kevin actually raises his hands in surrender.

“Yeah actually…” Cas says lazily, drawing out his words. “…Thinkin’ about it,” he turns to Dean, smiling naughtily, “I guess I should get to bed. Long day y’know.”

With that, he turns on his heel, waving over his shoulder as he saunters towards the bedroom. Pausing suddenly, he turns back to Dean.

“You goin’ to bed too now, Dean?” He asks innocently. “Or are you gonna wait till I’m asleep so you can wake me up with your clumsy, eight-toed feet?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m comin’.” He says through gritted teeth. His eyes never leave Cas’s. “Night, everyone.”

* * *

 

Cas doesn’t mean to slam the door behind him, but Dean immediately shoves him up against it as soon as they’re inside, away from prying eyes, practically growling with anticipation. Cas chuckles at his eagerness, barely sucking in breaths as Dean’s mouth covers his lips, his throat, his jaw.

“Shit Dean, what’s gotten into you, anyhow?”

“Shutup.” Dean mumbles, licking a broad stripe over Cas’s erratically beating pulse. Dean yanks him closer, winding strong arms around his waist so that he can manoeuvre Cas towards the bed.

Cas lets himself be manhandled, hey, he’s not one to miss it when someone inadvertently shows you their kinks, and let it be said that Dean likes to manhandle Cas. He likes it a _lot._ As if backing up his own point, Cas feels Dean lifting him, throwing him backwards, where he lands (luckily) on the semi-broken mattress, which skids a little across the floor as Cas bounces onto it. He lays back, eyes hooded and smiling , watching Dean, still stood panting at his feet.

Dean starts to undress then, and here Castiel pays close attention. He sits up a little, resting on his elbows. Dean shucks off his jacket first, doing it slowly, folding it and laying it over a discarded half-chair. Then he reaches for his tie, pulling at it, letting his gaze caress Cas’s semi-clothed form, spread out for him, waiting. Dean’s shirt is next, Cas thinks hungrily, it has to be, and _fuck_ he can barely stand the anticipation. His dick is already heavy and hard, throbbing with want, so he reaches down, rubbing a firm palm between his legs, moaning as Dean whips the tie off.

Dean’s watching carefully, his expression almost unreadable, something in his face that Castiel has never seen before. His fingers reach for the buttons atop the collar of his shirt, but he fumbles after just two, letting his arms fall to his sides.

Cas’s movements slow, and he wonders what’s wrong. What’s happening, why has Dean stopped? Dean is inching forwards now, until he’s kneeling on the bed, legs either side of Cas’s feet, eyes trained on the hand rubbing Cas’s crotch.

“Stop.” Dean says softly.

Shit, Castiel thinks, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It takes a Hell of a lot of self-control, the kind he should get a fucking _medal_ for, but he lets his hand fall away. Not again, he thinks despairingly, and he hates himself for it, truly, but he can’t deal with this. Dean can’t let him think he can have this, and then steal it away at the last minute, it’s not _fair._ He’s just a guy after all, he can’t help wanting, he can’t stop himself from loving Dean now that he’s already started. All evening the son of a bitch has been hinting at-

“ _Ffffuck!”_ Castiel suddenly shouts, eyes flying open, body jack-knifing, and a hand is immediately clamped over his mouth because that was without a doubt loud enough to be heard next door- streets away even. As he’d been caught in an inner turmoil, he’d vaguely registered the comforting caress of Dean’s hands smoothing over his legs, assuming it was a condolence, an apology for not being able to continue. Now, Dean’s hand is upon him, _really_ upon him, slipped sneakily down the waistband of his boxers, roughened, clever, pistol-twirling fingers clasped around his aching dick.

As the gears click in his mind, as he realises the full extent of what is happening, Cas starts to moan behind Dean’s other hand, his eyes pricking with desperate tears, begging Dean to continue. Dean’s face is close, he’s still kneeling over Cas, the ghost of a smile is on his lips, a look of amazement in his eyes. Cas can’t look away; he wants to look down, to see for himself the wonder of Dean’s hand in his underwear, but he can’t stop staring into Dean’s eyes.

Dean flexes his fingers experimentally, and Castiel falls, whimpering, back into his former position, laid on his back. Dean travels with him, keeping his hand clamped over Cas’s mouth. Their bodies are close now, Dean is on top of him, and to Castiel’s incredulity, he starts to move. His hand smooths up and down his shaft, slicking them both with precome, building in tempo, his movements getting sharper every few seconds, becoming erratic, jacking him with fervour.

Castiel is helpless, he writhes underneath Dean, bites at his fingers, his screams and yells lost behind the wall of Dean’s brilliant hand. He clutches at Dean’s shirt, pulls at it in every direction as Dean quickens the pace, yanking it so hard he pulls it apart, sending buttons flying. So then he rakes at Dean’s bared skin, nails digging into the stained flesh of his tattoo as he raises his hips to Dean’s movements, thrusting helplessly into his fist.

Dean watches all the while, seeming to take note of every expression that crosses Cas’s face, every crease in his brow, every flicker of his lashes. Too soon Cas is on the precipice, and he can feel the surge of intensity swarming towards him. He forces himself to stare into Dean’s eyes, nowhere else, grabbing him by the back of the neck to pull his face closer. Seeming to know somehow, Dean moves his hand from Cas’s mouth, latching his lips there as if they were magnets, and Cas comes, almost instantaneously, Dean swallowing his cries. He comes so hard he feels his body seize up with it, bright gold stars fizzing like coins behind his squeezed-shut eyes.

The first real physical sensation he feels after that is someone stroking his hair. Even that is slightly too much, he’s too raw, too sensitive, he feels like an over-inflated balloon, about to burst at any moment. Again.

 _Dean_. He’s the one doing the stroking. Cas opens his eyes, disbelieving himself. Dean did that to him. Dean Winchester.

“How you doin’ there, dollface?” The man himself says, his voice croaky and quiet – not quite himself.

Cas can’t quite bring himself to speak yet; he’s not sure he remembers how. He tries a nod. That goes okay.

Dean chuckles. His face looks pink. There’s something wild in his eyes, something yearning. He opens his mouth to speak again, but seems to have some trouble finding the words. He looks away, chuckling again. “Fuck, Cas…”

“You… you’ve done that before, huh.” Cas says at last, finding his voice, or at least a breathy, squeaky version of it.

Dean looks at him, rolling off to lie beside him. “Once or twice maybe….” He replies, being purposefully vague. “It was never like this though.”

Cas turns his head, facing the man beside him. “How so?”

Dean turns his head too; their faces are close now, kissing distance. Dean licks his lips, and Cas watches the movement intently.

“Well,” Dean smirks, “no one I’ve been with – possibly no one _ever_ – has been as loud as you, Cas.”

Cas blushes and rolls his eyes. “Well… In my defence- you stuck your hand in my pants without warning!”

Dean blushes then, a far deeper shade of red, and he looks away. “Yeah, well. Feel sorta clumsy, actually.” He chuckles, clearly nervous. "Guess I'm rusty. Ain't done this since... God knows when."

“Hey,” Cas says, more softly, and he reaches for Dean’s chin, turning head so they’re face-to-face again, “don’t think I’m complainin'.” Dean smiles, and this time there’s nothing underneath it, except maybe the barest hint of sadness. Cas smirks – he knows how to get rid of that. “In fact…” Cas sits up a little, swinging one leg over Dean’s hip so that he’s straddling the guy. He ignores Dean’s worried expression at the sudden change of events. “I think you definitely deserve a reward.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s chest, peppering the revealed skin with soft kisses, inching his way down. With one hand – yeah, he knows he’s impressive – he reaches for Dean’s belt, and pulls it free.

“Woah, uh, slow down there, soldier…” Dean cries, wriggling his hips, trying to pull free of Cas’s hold. “Just… wait a sec, would’ya?”

Cas stops, the belt in his hand half out of Dean’s belt loops. He stares into Dean’s eyes. What’s the problem now, he wonders. Dean is clearly uncomfortable; he’s not going to let this happen. Castiel nearly cries out in frustration. It’s the same thing all over again. What’s the good in receiving if you can’t return the favour? Especially when you’re as crazy, head-over-heels besotted with someone as he is with Dean. If Dean won’t let him reciprocate the physical side of this passionate, fiery, once-in-a-lifetime relationship, it’s almost as bad as not having anything at all.

Half knowing it’s in vain, Cas leans toward Dean, bringing their faces close, looming over him, trying to squash the other man’s fear. “Just relax,” he says in a soothing voice, letting a hand stroke aimlessly over Dean’s bared chest, it's not like can't feel how hard the guy is, “let me make you feel good, baby.”

Dean bites his lip, his eyes clearly brimming with want, desperate to surrender to Cas, to let him have his way, but something inside him, something that Cas has been battling with since he met Dean, wins out. Dean pushes him away, gentle but firm, so that Cas rolls off, and there they lay together once again, on their backs, side by side.

Minutes pass. Cas says nothing. He doesn’t want to appear ungrateful. He’s proud of Dean too, truly, for getting over his resistance enough to follow through on his urges to the extent that he did. But Cas is not the type of lover to take and not give back, ask anyone. Especially Balthazar, the greedy bitch.

“I’m trying, Cas. I-I’m really…” Dean trails off, and Cas’s heart falters. None of this, not one bit, is his fault. He was raised wrongly; blame it on the father, the circumstance. Dean didn’t choose to have this hindrance on the expression of his feelings. Who would?

“Dean,” Cas says, turning to face his profile; he slides a hand over his belly, pulling him close, “I’m in the wrong here. I should be more patient.” Cas quirks a smile, squeezing Dean’s ribs and making him squirm. “Plus, I got nothin’ to complain about. Dean Winchester, you are quite the lovemaker.”

Dean splutters at that, turning to Cas, his face beetroot. All traces of shame seem to have disappeared for now; for that Castiel is glad. “Don’t call it that.”

Castiel grins. “Call it what? _Lovemaking?_ ”

“Yeah.” Dean looks seriously uncomfortable. “We- we fooled around, sure. We did the dirty, uh maybe I guess. But not… we didn’t…”

Cas just smiles at him, mischief hidden in his glinting eyes. “Sure, Dean-o. No love was made here.”

When Cas makes a big show of theatrically winking, Dean just turns away, rolling his eyes. If he smiles softly to himself a little while later, no one needs to know.

* * *

 The next couple of weeks pass in a bit of a blur. Dean lets himself be convinced that they should all lay low (for real this time), which is fine by him – he’s still traumatised with memories of Cas, half through a window, fingers slipping out of his grasp. He’s in no hurry to put themselves back in that kind of danger.

He’s annoyed at himself still. He thought he’d had an epiphany after breaking Cas out of jail. He was sure he’d had some kind of breakthrough in terms of his fears over his feelings for Cas, that he’d at last be able to be with Cas how he truly wants, to express the physical side of his need for that beautiful, mad Lawrence busboy-turned-rebel. 

He should have known, in hindsight, that it won’t be that simple. He’s still going to be plagued with doubt and unsurety no matter how badly he wants to persevere. The fear of losing Cas might allow him to shake off his inhibitions to an extent, but inevitably, the barriers slam down in his mind before he takes things too far, John’s disgusted, abhorred voice ringing in his ears, stopping him dead in his tracks.

He’s proud of himself though, in a way, because he and Cas went further than they have before. The best he could do was mute the voice enough that Cas’s moans of desire could be heard over the top. To make Cas feel good, that was the greatest thing he could imagine, forget his own needs, his own wants- to have Cas writhing underneath him, to hear his bruised peach lips forming Dean’s own name, nothing in the world could get in the way.

To have Cas try and repay him… he’s still just not ready.

So the days pass, Cas tries in vain to initiate things, all sly wandering hands and batting eyes to distract Dean before he pounces. But Dean knows if this is gonna work, he has to be the one in control. He has to be able to say what and when and where, or he’ll freak out like he always seems to, and he’s trying damn hard to let that not be a problem anymore. For Cas.

Having the conversation with Cas though, it’s too embarrassing to even contemplate, so Dean tries to show him who’s in charge using other means. Some mornings he’ll blink awake to find Cas’s mouth pressing against his chest, his abdomen, inching downwards in a non-discreet manner, so he’ll grab Cas, hooking his hands underneath his arms and yanking him upwards, pushing him on his back and climbing on top, finding his wrists and pinning them above his head.

“Tryin’ to get yourself in trouble, treacle?” Dean asks, keeping his face close, his voice low and menacing.

Cas’s eyes will bloom wide, and he’ll stammer out some half apology. “N-no, I-“

Dean has to punish him, to let him know it’s bad or he’ll never learn. He’ll grind against Cas, making it just this side of painful.

“You’ll do as you’re told, sugar.” Dean will say, and Cas will hurry to nod, his eyes desperate. “You’ll be patient, huh?”

* * *

 

The more times Cas is caught in the act, the more times he is ‘punished’, the quicker he starts to understand that Dean is calling the shots in this department now. At first he thinks it’s a damn shame, as he’s good at the seduction stuff, but then he starts getting into it: becoming hard whenever Dean uses a stern voice, particularly during jobs, which makes things a little awkward. He finds he starts acting out, playing with Dean’s boundaries just so that he will react, shove him against the wall, bite at his skin, anything. Seeing Dean like this, all confident and authoritative, it’s what got to Castiel in the first place. It’s hardly a surprise that he apparently has a major kink for Dean acting this way in private; it’s fucking addictive. Castiel is certainly not complaining.

And hey, it’s not like his talents are going to waste. A stroke of his hand up Dean’s thigh, or a pressed knee against his leg and he can still get Dean riled up enough that he often looks like he’s going to explode – which Cas would _totally_ help him out with if only Dean would let him.

Plus, his flirtatious nature comes in super handy (as it always has done) during jobs. Which, Cas supposes reluctantly, later, is what gets them into major shit.

* * *

 

“I think it’s time, Sam.” Dean announces, striding into the living room.

Ruby is sitting in her throne as per usual (a tall, velvet upholstered chair, quite high off the ground, deep scarlet in colour), holding a mirror to her face, applying carmine to her voluptuous lips. She glances up at Dean as he walks in, her gaze filled with disdain.

“Time for what?” Sam asks. He’s standing behind Ruby, an arm around the back of her chair, watching her in the mirror.

“Come with me and Cas on a bank job.”

Ruby shoves the mirror at Sam, hitting him in the chest; it looks almost painful. “Like Hell.”

Dean narrows his eyes at Ruby. “What do you care? He’ll come back with more cash. That means more nail polish and shoes, right?”

Cas barks a laugh from where he’s sprawled on the floor. He appears to have been napping before Dean came in, one of Dean’s fedora’s resting over his eyes. Dean glances at him fondly.

“Dean.” Sam says in warning. “I dunno if… If it’s such a good idea.”

Dean looks at Sam as if he’s gone insane. “What? Why the Hell not? C’mon you’re not scared, are ya?”

Cas peers out at Sam from underneath the hat, judging his reaction.

“No, of course not, I just…”

“Look, I am not losing Sam for two years again, or _more_ because you and your foolhardy boyfriend over there can’t do anything without fucking it up.” Ruby cries, her voice cruel and mocking. “Sam is better than the both of you combined, he just doesn’t wanna do it with _you_ cause that way it’s a ninety-nine percent chance of getting’ locked up or _killed._ ”

Dean can’t help the dumbstruck expression that flies onto his face. He glances at Sam, disbelieving.

“Dean, I never said-”

“You basically said it to me last night, Sam.” Ruby scoffs, interrupting him. “Just let the idiots run off on their own. What the Hell are we still doin’ here, Sam?”

Cas sits up then, plucking the hat off his face and tossing it to Dean. “Yeah, what are you still doin’ here? Psycho bitch.” He mutters, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants. He reaches for his suit jacket, slung over a chair. “C’mon Dean, I’m itchin’ to get outta here. Let’s pull this job.”

Dean looks at Cas, grateful and full of appreciation. He nods, placing the hat in his hands on his head. “Yeah, okay.” They start to walk away, and Dean turns back. “Kevin!” He calls. “C’mon, we need a driver.”

Before turning round, he catches Sam’s eye, pleading and apologetic. Dean sighs and heads out of the door. They load up the car with Dean’s pre-packed bag, he and Cas climbing in the back beside it; Kevin tactfully doesn’t mention the new seating arrangements, not after last time. They’re just pulling out of the drive, Cas’s mood beginning to shift into frantic excitement - something Dean loves about pulling jobs with the guy – when they hear something over the roar of the engine.

“Wait! Stop, hold up would’ya!”

Kevin slows the car as they pull into the opening of the tree tunnel entryway, and they all look back to see wildly gesticulating Sam, running for his life after them, waving his hat to get their attention. Dean can’t help the shit-eating grin that plasters itself across his face.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” He calls to Sam, who rolls his eyes in response, climbing in beside Kevin, panting heavily. “Thank God you’re finally seeing sense.”

Sam turns back to face his brother, face incredulous. “Seeing sense? I must be fuckin’ crazy.”

Cas lets out a manic, dramatic laugh as they drive away.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can't keep a hat (literally) on his jealousy, shit goes down as a result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't posted in a while dearie me. It's okay now though, seriously! I have internet at my flat at last! Hooray!   
> Basically, the reason it's taken so long (and I'll hope you'll forgive me when you hear this) apart from the internet thing is that to be quite honest I've been writing a huge motherfucking sex scene, and it's taken me sooooo long idek why. But yes, get ready to enjoy that next chapter :D I will probably be posting that tomorrow, in fact almost definitely. 
> 
> Here is a visual aid for Dean-o in the bank-o with his hat on: http://fallforcastiel.tumblr.com/post/92850930083
> 
> Then here's Dean and Sammy in the bank: http://fallforcastiel.tumblr.com/post/92850961548
> 
> And one more of Dean for good measure: http://fallforcastiel.tumblr.com/post/92850935388

Hitting the bank with Sam starts out easy as pie, fun too – Dean had forgotten how fun. He and Sam make a good team. It’s a shame he can never trust himself to be Sam’s partner in crime again really, he’s too scared of Sam getting locked up again. Ruby’s right, the bitch, Sam should stay well away. Nevertheless, he’s glad he gets to do this with Sam again, even if it’s just one last time.

The Winchesters usher everyone - clerks, managers and customers alike - into the vault and get a lucky ‘volunteer’ to carefully pass out the cash. There’s a hell of a lot this time, too. They can afford a brand new car with their newly acquired funds, thinks Dean, and he’s been itching for a switch. Then again, why buy the car? They’re thieves, aren’t they? Might as well stick to what they know.

One of the hostages whispers something to another, and Dean snaps his attention to her, pointing his gun.

“Hey!” Dean shouts at her; she’s quite far back in the huddle of people. A fairly young, very pretty woman with cat-like features and blonde, wavy hair. She cowers under Dean’s attention. “What’re you sayin’ back there? I’m not gonna have a ‘heroine’ on my hands, am I?”

His voice screams ‘don’t give me any shit’ but in reality Dean’s palms are starting to sweat. He’s not good with the ones that try to save everyone, fellas like that idiot back in Farmers Bank, the first bank job he pulled with Cas, the one who tackled the gun right out of his hands. He wishes Cas were nearby, because he _is_ good with those types, he’s wild and confident enough that they don’t dare get past him. Dean shoots a glance over his shoulder; Cas is covering the front door, checking all is clear, he doesn’t even notice Dean looking.

“It’s… It’s just…” The woman who had been whispering starts to say, and Dean snaps his attention back to her, snarling for effect.

“What?!”

“You’re one of them aren’t you?” The woman asks timidly, and Dean tries to peer at her face, obscured by all the others. British accent, a face you'd definitely remember. She doesn’t look familiar.

“One of who?” Dean asks irritably, and Sam side-eyes him, still loading bundles of cash into a bag.

“Castiel and Dean.” She answers, her voice almost awestruck now, and Dean freezes. He feels Cas’s eyes swivelling to where they are, obviously having heard her. “Y-you’re Dean, yes? Dean Winchester? The ex-convict- oh my. You’re every bit as handsome as your picture.”

Dean gulps. How on earth does this woman know so much? Who is she? Maybe he needs to shut her up. Sam stops loading the cash, his face the epitome of ‘let’s get the hell out of here’.

“Okay lady, you’re out.” Dean says, his voice loud with panic and fear.

He hurtles into the crowd of hostages, all of them yelping and pressing themselves against the walls to get away from him and the shiny pistol in his hand. Dean grabs hold of the woman by the upper arm and she screams. He drags her out of the vault, over the enormous tiled floor towards Cas, and throws her down, where she slumps, whimpering, at Cas’s feet.

“Dean,” Cas hisses, pulling Dean aside, away from the woman, “what the Hell are you doing?!”

Dean shrugs Cas off, jabbing his finger at the woman in question. “She knows about us! She knows...”

Cas looks incredulous as Dean trails off, his eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “Knows what?!”

“She knows your name!”

Cas scoffs, turning back to peer through the glass doors at the fairly empty street outside. “Fuck’s sake, Dean. You had me thinkin’ there was somethin’ really wrong!”

“Cas, she-”

“Dean, you’re in all the papers! Every day I see your face and name on the front page.” Cas interrupts, turning back to him. “Usually they refer to me as your ‘accomplice’ or ‘partner’ or somethin’ equally demeaning but it looks as if they’ve finally found out who I am! What does it matter? You told me when I met you that everyone would end up knowin’ our names. Well, it’s happenin’!”

Dean stares at his partner for a moment, realising that yeah, he did say that, didn’t he? Why is he stressing so much now? Is it all just becoming too real?

“Yeah…” Dean says vaguely in response. “I- I guess you’re right. So… this is our legacy, huh Angel?”

Cas smiles and rolls his eyes. “Babe, I’ll happily talk to you about this later, but right now could you get your fuckin’ hostage and huge fuck-off pistol away from the big glass doors? I’m tryin’ to look discreet here.”

Dean grins at him, loving the attitude as ever. “Just keepin’ you on your toes, dollface.” He winks cheekily, marching over to the woman.

Cas blows him a sarcastic kiss.

She’s not crying anymore, the hostage. She just stares at them, contemplating. Her head is cocked to the side as she takes them both in, her mascara stained eyes flicking between them as if trying to work them out.

“Okay, peep show’s over, sweetheart.” Dean tells her, hauling her up to her feet again.

He marches her over to the vault once more, finding Sam with a fully stuffed bag of money and a mildly impatient expression on his face. Dean grins at his brother and shoves the woman inside with the others. Together they close the vault, spinning the large metal handle so they can’t get out until someone comes. Meh, they can leave the police an anonymous tip about the twenty-five-or-so hostages in a bank vault down the road.

Sam jogs over to Cas, clearly itching to be out of the place now, the money clutched in his gargantuan paw. “Can we go, please?!”

“Okay, okay,” Dean replies to Sam’s frantic plea, striding over to them himself, “Cas, go find Kevin and tell him to bring the car around front.”

Cas nods, saluting them both and whistling as he pushes through the bank doors. Sam turns to Dean.

“God,” he breathes, sounding defeated, “I forgot how exhausting it all is. The constant awareness you gotta have of everythin’ around you. Kudos, Dean. I don’t think I could pull bank jobs as often as you guys do.”

Dean grins at him. “That’s cause I’m the best there is, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. Same genes, dufus.”

“Nuh-uh.” Dean shakes his head. “Ma and Pa, they tried again, sure. But they couldn’t improve on perfection.” Dean grins again, gesturing at himself.

It’s just brotherly banter, the most normal, unremarkable thing in the world, yet Dean relishes it, realises he and Sam haven’t done this in a long time. And though the circumstance might be a little strange (it’s easy to forget the large group of hostages they just stuffed in a bank vault) Dean can’t remember a better way to feel at ease, to be completely happy, than just bickering with Sam, like always.

Dean obviously tries to prolong the moment, so they don’t realise how long they’ve been standing there, batting each other’s insults out of the air, and all at once they do.

“ _I’m_ a geek?! Dean, you used to memorise pages of the dictionary to impress Dad-”

“Hold on a minute, Sammy-" Dean spins around, anxiety tippling through his veins. "Where the Hell is Cas?”

The bright smile drips off Sam’s face as realisation dawns on him. “Shit, how long have we been waitin’ for him anyhow?”

Dean tries not to react to Sam’s worry, but he can’t help it. His mind springs to the worst possible conclusion. Cas captured again, run away, dead… His stomach drops to his knees.

“It-it’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine.” Dean tells himself as much as he tells Sam. He edges towards the bank doors, peering out at the world; he can’t see much, truth be told. Cas is definitely nowhere in sight. Just an empty street. “I’ll just… head outside and look for him.” Dean turns back to Sam, one hand on the door, pistol clutched tightly. He tries to feign a carefree laugh. “I’m sure he’s just lost tryin’a find Kev, the idjit.”

With that, and a flash of Sam’s fearful face, Dean pushes the door open, stepping out into the world, ready for the worst. He peers up and down the long street, concealing his pistol as best he can against his side. There are a few people milling about, not taking any notice of the stranger in the suit and hat outside Talbot & Co. Bank.

Dean strains his eyes against the sun, scanning the cars parked along the side of the road for Kevin, but the only person in any of the cars is a young man, sandy blonde, not dissimilar to Dean himself in looks, though a few years younger- around Cas’s age perhaps. He’s leaning out of the window, talking to someone who Dean can’t see from his current angle.

The blonde man – Dean can’t help being drawn to him, he’s attractive in a strange sort of way – is laughing, his eyes lighting up. He’s speaking with a woman then, Dean thinks wryly; he’s well-versed in flirting, despite his recent failures. Dean looks up and down the road again, searching in vain for a sign of Kevin.

“Where are you,” Dean mutters to himself, “crazy son of a bitch.”

He strolls forward, towards the man in the car. For no particular reason other than being mildly interested in who he’s talking to, who is bringing that laughter out of him, not to mention the mischievous smirk the guy’s wearing now. He winks at the mystery person, working his charm on them no doubt.

Dean looks for Cas and Kevin as he goes, sweltering under the heat of the blazing afternoon sun. He wishes it were acceptable for him to remove his jacket. He takes his hat off, fanning himself with it. Two women pass him by and he hides the pistol inside it, nodding politely.

Finally he’s about level with the blonde man in the car now, across the street from the moment that has captured his interest. He peers over at the spectacle from between two cars, his mind reeling for a moment when he sees that the blonde man is not talking to a woman at all, but another man, this one leaning forwards, almost through his car window, giving Dean a spectacular view of his…

It’s Cas, Dean thinks.

Cas is leaning through the window, Cas is flirting with this fuckin’ total stranger in a damn Chevrolet, his ass sticking out into the street as if he’s presenting to the entire fuckin’ world. Dean sees red, he sees crimson, he sees fucking _indigo._ He feels the suit melting off him, the blood in his veins is boiling by now; he snarls, throwing his fedora to the floor and marching across the road. A car could come and slam straight into him, he’s sure it would have no effect right now.

He gets to them in what seems like three strides, grabbing Cas by the waistband of the pants he damn well _bought_ the guy – didn’t even steal them! – and yanking him away from the car. Cas is so taken aback he actually falls over, landing in the middle of the road. Dean hardly cares, he’s too intent on revenge, his mind screaming violence. He reaches through the open window at the blonde man’s now horrified face, grabbing the bastard by the collar and pulling their faces close.

“Out of the fuckin’ car, now!” He yells, and the blonde man nods frantically, scrambling to do just that. Dean helps him once the door is open, pulling him out by his stupid blonde locks before shoving him harshly to the ground. “Piece of shit. You don’t talk to him, do y’hear?!”

Dean gestures at Cas, who has gotten to his feet by now, his face pale as he takes in the extent of Dean’s rage. “Dean, it’s okay, Adam’s was just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on in the bank and I was explainin’-”

“Adam?!” Dean spits, his eyes loaded with hurt and venom as he turns to Cas. “You got his name, huh?”

“Yeah, mister I swear I never meant no trouble, I won’t say a word, I-”

Dean cuts him off with a simple aim of his colt. He places the barrel right between Adam’s eyes. “Shut the Hell up.” Dean growls. “You think it’s _funny_ that I gotta see you flirtin’ with him? Give me your keys right the fuck now.” Dean holds out his other hand to the guy. “Cas, get in the damn car!”

“Dean, Kevin’s waiting, we can’t just-”

“I didn’t ask for your fuckin’ opinion, Cas! Get in the car.” Dean shouts; people are starting to notice now, Dean can hear gasps from around him, folks seeing the pistol in Dean’s hands, the petrified lover-boy on the floor.

Cas pauses for a moment, clearly weighing out his options, but eventually does as Dean says. He clambers into the passenger seat, staring out at Dean.

“The keys!” Dean reiterates to Adam, who just shakes his head.

“I-I’m afraid I can’t just… this car was my Dad’s I…” Adam starts to say, and Dean growls in frustration. Wasn’t he just saying that he hates heroes?

“Kid, I won’t ask you again, but I will shoot you. Give me the keys!” Dean yells, and Adam squeezes his eyes shut, his lips moving in silent prayer.

Dean feels a tap on his arm just then, and turns, irritated, to see Cas, leaning through the window, dangling the set of keys he’s just pulled out of the ignition. “C’mon, Mr Badass. Leave the poor guy alone.”

Dean can’t help that the anger drains out of him somewhat at the sound of Cas’s usual sarky tone. He grimaces, kicking Adam in the shoulder so he falls back a way, and wrenches open the car door. He slides in, jamming the keys Cas hands him into the ignition and feeling the car purr to life. It’s a damn nice car this, he thinks, and then he focuses. Getaway time.

“Where’s Kevin parked?” Dean barks at Cas, and Cas rolls his eyes but points, so Dean starts to pull away.

“H-hey!” They hear from behind them, wild and desperate. “Y-you can’t… that’s my fuckin’ car, you assholes!”

No, Dean thinks. Just let it go.

Adam catches up to their window at a run, clinging onto the side, his face red and full of anger. “I know who you guys are! You’re them in all the papers, Castiel and Dean Winchester, I know! I’ll tell the cops, they’ll track my car! I saw you hit the bank, I’ve seen your fuckin’ faces you bastards, I’ll-”

Dean’s heard a gun fire before. Probably more often than most, in fact. It makes no sense that this time he’s any more astounded by it than any other. Perhaps it wasn’t the loudness, the suddenness of it, though. Perhaps it was himself that so shocking, watching his own hand curl around the pistol, raise it up, knowing where the bullet would bury itself. Squeezing the trigger.

Adam falls to the floor, lifeless, but Dean doesn’t stop. Sam’s outside the bank by now, having seen everything. Dean slows for him enough that he can hop in but he doesn’t stop. Cas screams when he looks back at Adam’s body but Dean doesn’t stop. They find Kevin, asleep at the wheel in their parked car, and Dean beeps the horn loudly, gesturing for him to get in this car now, his face grim, but he doesn’t stop. Not until they reach home. Not until they’re far away.

* * *

 

Cas’s tears have dried once they reach their hideout. There hadn’t been many tears, and to be honest they weren’t really for Adam, they were shed more for the situation they’re now in. All of them. No escape.

Murderers. That’s the label they’re going to the grave with now. Sure, Cas may not have physically pulled the trigger, but he is an accomplice now matter how hard you squint. He and Dean are a pair. Hell, the papers agree, they sure as sugar won’t care who pulled the trigger – in the public’s eyes they’re both murderers now. Practically seen as one person – they’ve even tacked Dean’s last name on the end of his, Cas thinks.

Nobody talks on the way back. Kevin knows the bare minimum of what happened. Cas is ninety percent sure Sam saw everything. Dean wasn’t too discreet after all.

As soon as they pull up to the house, Sam and Kevin get out. It’s almost an unspoken agreement that he and Dean stay in the car. The silence stretches on for a long time; Cas thinks it might never end. What is there to say?

“You see what you do, Cas?” Dean whispers at length, and Cas thinks he must have heard wrong.

“I’m sorry? What _I_ do?”

“Yeah.” Dean states, hard and cold. “You and your stupid fucking flirting, Cas!”

Cas can’t quite believe his ears. He stares at Dean in disbelief.

“This never would’ve happened if you’d just-” Dean slams his hands against the steering wheel.

“You selfish son of a bitch, how can you blame this on me?!” Cas yells, his voice a crescendo. “You wanna know what I was doin’ with Adam? _Distracting him._ ”

Dean laughs manically. “Oh right, is that what you call it, Cas? Or hey, maybe it’s some homo-slang term I don’t get.” Dean leans close to him, bringing their faces inches apart. “You’re a fuckin’ whore, Cas. Sometimes I don’t even know why I picked you up in Lawrence. I can find ten o’ you on any street corner nowadays.”

Cas tries to slide the steel defence mechanism across his heart, the one he’s had protecting himself for the past twenty-odd years. Dean’s been chiselling away at it for some time though, it doesn’t hold up. Cas feels every word like a bullet.

“Fuck you, Winchester.” Cas hisses in reply, his eyes stinging with tears. Dean turns from him, not wanting to see the pain he’s caused. He opens his car door, stepping out; Cas follows, marching behind Dean as he strides into the thickly wooded area either side of the drive. “You wanna talk doubts? Well I’m not so sure I signed up to be the partner of a deranged, emotionally constipated _murderer_ , and you know, maybe it’s not too late to turn back now; I’m not so sure I wanna stick around for the end of your breakdown, Dean-o.”

“I didn’t wanna kill anyone, Castiel!” Dean shouts, his voice echoing off each tree. Cas can’t help but notice this is the first time since they’ve met that Dean has used his full name. “You made me so fuckin’ angry, you were supposed to come back to me, to me and Sam, not tell some blonde fucker you like the way his eyes sparkle!”

“Are you honestly still tryin’ to pin this on me?” Castiel cries, incredulous. “I didn’t force you to pick up the gun, Dean, if it weren’t for your insane jealousy Adam would be alive-”

“Don’t you fuckin’ say that!” Dean snaps, and Castiel scowls. “What gives you the right to judge me- to judge the decisions _I_ make, huh? What makes you so goddamned special? You’re a fuckin’ busboy, a greasy diner lowlife with a cocky attitude and a fetish for danger.”

Cas feels like his ribcage is being ripped open, like he’s openly watching as Dean clamps a hard, unforgiving fist around his heart.

“Oh, go fuck yourself Winchester, _you’re_ the one who picked me up and took me with you- apparently I’m special enough for your standards!” Cas is seething now, his teeth clenched as Dean bats his words away. “The only goddamned special thing about you is your peculiar idea about lovemakin’- which is no lovemakin’ at all!”

Apparently Dean can’t help the hurt that flashes into his eyes at these words, because Castiel sees it, sees Dean’s shocked silent gasp, and his shame as he turns away. Stupid, stupid – of course he struck a nerve.

_Dean don’t… don’t turn away… I didn’t mean it, fuck…I didn’t mean it I swear._

Dean is silent for a very long time. Castiel can’t see his face, his back is turned, looking into the distance. Castiel wonders what he will say. Is he done now? Is he gonna turn around and tell Cas to hit the road?

“Cas, I didn’t wanna shoot him.”

The change of subject sends Castiel’s mind freewheeling for a moment. “I know.”

“He would’ve been the end of us.”

“I know, Dean. You don’t have to explain.”

Dean’s shoulders hunch over, begin to tremble. Cas realises he’s crying. He takes a tentative step towards Dean, wondering if his presence is wanted right now, if Dean can ignore the vicious words they spat at each other moments ago. He lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder, testing the waters. Dean tenses, but doesn’t pull away. Taking that as a go ahead, Castiel slides his hands around Dean, pulling him tightly into an embrace. Dean is stiff for several moments, but eventually relents, pushing his own hands into Cas’s hair and pulling them both to their knees.

“Shh,” Cas says soothingly, stroking Dean’s back, “it’ll be ok, honest.”

“I can’t get it out of my head, Cas.”

“Think of somethin’ else, think of when we met, remember? I was makin’ hot chocolate.”

Dean’s sobs quieten a little, his face buried into the crook of Cas’s neck. “Terribly.”

Cas smiles, and he feels Dean let out a small chuckle through his tears. “Damn straight.”

“You spilled the milk all over the floor.” Dean mutters, a smile evident in his voice. “I thought Michael was gonna combust.”

“I wanted to know who the mysterious stranger with the sexy voice was.” Cas says jokingly, though he means every word.

Dean leans back a little then, enough to meet Cas’s eyes. Tears stain his face, glittering droplets clinging to his lashes. His hands drop to Castiel’s shoulders. “Was it worth it? In the end?”

Cas’s heart breaks for him. So fucking insecure. So much for the macho tough-guy act he pulls the whole friggin’ time. “Every second.”

Dean quirks a smile, his expression one so full of adoration it makes Cas uncomfortable. He looks away, and Dean’s hand moves to his chin, pulling them face to face again.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I wish I could be someone you deserve.”

Cas shakes his head, smiling softly at him. “You’re a damn fool, y’know that? Can’t you see it yet?”

Dean furrows his brow, trying to work out the meaning behind Castiel’s words. “Whaddya mean?”

“You and me, stupid.” Cas says, and he can’t help it; Dean’s idiotic blushing cheeks, his glistening green eyes, it’s too much for him. He leans forward, pressing their mouths together. Dean tastes like tears and regret, but it’s still as sweet as ever. “We’re meant to be.”

Dean’s eyes flutter open again, and he laughs, blushing further. Cas smiles back, pecking Dean’s lips once more before falling onto his back on the grass, staring up at the wide ocean of sky. He’s suddenly exhausted; a lot has happened in the last few hours. A few seconds pass and Dean lays beside him, hooking his pinky finger through Cas’s, a non-committal agreement to Cas’s statement. A reminder of their profound bond. 

* * *

 

It’s a few days later that Ruby and Sam return to the hideout with a trunk full of newly purchased dresses for the gold-digger herself, and a newspaper.

“Guys?!”

Cas and Dean hear Sam calling from out where they are curled up together on their mattress, doing the same thing they always do whenever there’s nothing else – kissing within an inch of their lives, grinding on each other like sex-starved puppies (because that’s how it feels sometimes) until Dean decides he’s too worked up and needs to cool down.

Cas has still yet to enter into the golden lands of below Dean’s waist- the guy simply won’t let him anywhere near his belt or waistband, distracting him _very_ effectively with his own delicious fingers if he dares try. Dean’s hand is actually down Cas’s pants when they hear Sam calling them again, and they both groan, a slightly different sound to the ones they’d been making moments ago, knowing they have to stop.

Dean looks down into Cas’s desperate eyes. He pecks the poor guy on the lips, chaste and brutal. “Later.”

He pulls his hand out and detangles himself from an extremely disgruntled Castiel, and escapes out the door before he can be lured back again.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean asks, trying to disguise the fact he’s slightly out of breath.

Sam pauses before responding, looking his brother up and down, one eyebrow slightly raised. Ruby rolls her eyes and goes into the other room to play with her latest purchases.

“Uh, I’m just a bit concerned about the, uh, the paper.” Sam says at length, holding the newspaper out to his brother gingerly. Dean rolls his eyes and snatches it, eyes skimming over what it says.

“Don’t worry about it, they talk a lot of shit like they know everythin’ about me and Cas but… Oh shit.” The words on the page settle in Dean’s mind, and he feels the floor fall away from him.

_‘…Three days prior the renowned and deadly duo Castiel and Dean Winchester struck again, this time targeting a bank in Missouri with a far more deadly result, culminating in the death of Adam Milligan, 23. However, this time the two were not alone! According to eyewitness accounts, Dean and Castiel were seen driving away with a taller male carrying the stolen money, along with a younger compatriot, thought to be the driver seen in previous heists._

_Police are currently working on the theory that this mystery man accomplice could be Samuel Winchester, younger brother of Dean, also convicted of theft before his escape three years ago. This theory – yet to be proved – is prompting the public to refer to the criminals as the ‘Winchester Gang”. All members of the so-called gang are thought to be armed, extremely dangerous and not to be approached under any cost. Sightings of the gang in Washington and Florida respectfully are currently being looked into, but are suspected as of this time to be false reports or imitators.’_

“Fuck.” Dean says, defeated as he throws the newspaper atop Kevin’s sleeping form on the sofa. “They know you too now.”

Sam shrugs, trying to appear like it doesn’t bother him, but his teeth gnawing at his lower lip gives him away. “It’s not like the know anything real about me.” Dean cards a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, like Cas said, I’m sure it’s not gonna have a real effect.”

“Actually…” Sam says, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “That’s, uh, that’s not the article I wanted to um, to show you.”

Dean feels Cas enter the room at that moment, crossing to where Dean threw the paper and picking it up.

“Oh?” Dean asks Sam, not turning to Cas, because he’s suddenly worried. What’s Sam not telling him?

Sam chews his lip and pulls out another newspaper from his back pocket, clearly unsure about whether to give it to Dean at all. Dean tries to look nonplussed, holding out his hand like he doesn’t expect to find anything awful.

He hears a spluttered laugh from behind him; Cas. “The ‘ _Winchester Gang’_ , holy shit can we frame this?”

Dean ignores him, but catches Sam throw him a weak smile. Dean steps towards his brother and swipes the paper from his unresisting hands. It’s flipped to the article Sam wanted to show him already, the headline screaming at Dean immediately.

‘CAS AND DEAN: CRIMINALS, KILLERS… & HOMOSEXUAL LOVERS?’

The blood drains from Dean’s face. There’s a picture, one taken from a distance, but still just clear enough to make out. Him and Cas in front of the bank doors, only their shoulders and heads visible. Cas is blowing Dean a kiss as he smiles back.

“Cas, c’mon, outside.” Dean orders, and doesn’t even check behind him as he walks out of the door; he knows Cas will come eventually, even if he waits a bit to make a point.

He enters the courtyard of their hideout, surrounded by trees, and begins to read, pacing as he does so.

‘ _New information has arisen in regards to the famous criminal duo that’ve been terrorising America for months. Castiel and Dean Winchsester are lawbreakers, it is well-known, but just how far do they take their perverse disregard for the American way of life?_

_“ **Yeah, I was there when they met. F***in’ sick it was, watchin’ em, even in them early days. Castiel, I never liked that kid, he practically jumped on Dean, tricked ‘im I s’pose. Looks like a girl, don’ he? F***, Dean was my friend… makes your skin crawl.” Michael Novak, 25, (Kansas, Lawrence).**_

_As you can see, eyewitness accounts from friends and accquaintances keep pouring in, backing up the evidence that Castiel and Dean’s relationship is queerer than we may have once thought. Even victims of the two renegade possible lovers are claiming to have their own evidence in support of this new theory:_

**_“I was at my father’s bank when they… came. Well, I’d read about them in the papers o’course. Castiel and Dean, the handsomest bank robbers you ever did see! I guess I was too wrapped up lookin’ at their pictures to notice the papers sayin’ how… ruthless they are. How dirty and just plain wrong. Dean he… he heard me say somethin’ to the manager of the bank and he took me out, brought me over to Castiel. Well, I tell you, they seemed to forget all about me once I was there, scared outta my wits. They called each other pet names – ‘darlin’’, ‘angel’ and ‘sugar’, Dean even called Castiel 'Cas' – just as if they were a boy and girl, courtin’ and flirtin’ about. It was mighty disturbin’ I’ll tell you that right now. To think that they might be… doin’ stuff in private. It’s not God’s way, I’ll tell you that right now.” Bela Talbot, 22, (Daughter of Mr Frank Talbot, Owner of Talbot & Co. Banks)._ **

Dean finishes reading just as Castiel ambles out of the door, looking for all the world like he hasn’t a care. He’s got a cigarette poking out of his lips, his hand curled around the end, shielding it as he attempts to light it.

Dean throws the newspaper at his feet. “Read this.”

He paces a way out into the courtyard, running his hands through his hair over and over. This cannot be happening. Sammy did not just read those words. When did his life get so out of control? Fuck Michael. Fuck that bitch back at the bank. He should have just left her alone.

“Jesus…” Cas breathes from somewhere behind him, and Dean hears the note of sympathy in his tone. “Damn, they sure are gunnin’ for us, huh?”

Dean doesn’t reply. He feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns half-heartedly to Cas, accepting the offered cigarette and inhaling deeply.

“I can’t deal with this shit, man.” Dean says.

“They’re just tryin’a get to us. It don’t mean nothin’.”

“Well it’s damn well workin’!” Dean cries in response, throwing his hands up in despair. “Jesus, how do they _know_ this shit, huh?!”

Cas nods, staying silent as Dean gets what he needs to off his chest.

“It’s one thing to be trash talkin’ us,” Dean says, “sayin’ we’re no-good criminals- heck, I don’t even care that they’re pinnin’ shit on us that we never even heard of but _this-_ ”

“You’re right.” Cas agrees, pulling another cigarette out of his jacket when he sees Dean isn’t gonna give that one back. He lights it, letting the smoke pour through his sinuses. “They got no right to be sayin’ we’re doin’ any of that. Especially as you haven’t even let me in your pants yet.”

* * *

 

Cas looks up at Dean, mischief in his twinkling eyes, and Dean can’t help the smile that traitorously crawls onto his face. He drags on his cigarette, shaking his head as if in disapproval. “Shut your mouth.”

“Why? Everyone knows now. Might as well ride the storm.” Cas says, and he’s not serious, not really, but at the same time there’s a lot of truth in his words. Will Dean really continue to insist on hiding their relationship of sorts now that it’s in the goddamn national newspaper?

“They could hang us for this, Cas.” Dean says, turning to face him, his voice sombre. “Folks, they… heck, they really don’t like our sort.”

Cas is a little taken aback. There seems to be a note of acceptance in Dean’s voice; for the first time Cas can recall Dean is referring to them as a unit, speaking of them both as having these inclinations, instead of being accusatory towards Cas, leaving his own self out of it.

Castiel scoffs, stepping closer to Dean, his eyes strong-willed and earnest. “They’re gonna hang us anyway.” He says with conviction. “Hell, they’re gonna kill us when they find us. They’ll shoot us down like dogs, Dean-o, but I don’t care. Cause I was fuckin’ dyin’ anyway. Till I met you.”

Dean stares at him, marvelling. He drags on his cigarette, eyes careful and unblinking, locked with Cas. Eventually he nods.

Cas doesn’t understand at first when he sees Dean begin to walk towards the car. He stays in place, holding the paper tightly in once hand, dithering on the spot as he watches Dean saunter away slowly. His cigarette drips ash to the floor.

“Dean?”

There’s no verbal response but once Dean reaches the vehicle, he opens to door and turns back to Cas, inclining his head sharply in a way that says: “Get in.”

Castiel doesn’t need telling twice. He’s pretty sure he’d willingly leap of a cliff if Dean told him to, especially in a cut up state like the one he’s in now. Castiel jogs over to the car, throwing the paper over his shoulder, hopping into the passenger seat and waiting obediently for Dean to climb in too. 

“Where’re we goin’?” Cas asks tentatively around his cigarette, but Dean doesn’t answer. Not that Castiel really expected him to.

Dean turns the key in the ignition and the car roars to life, trembling beneath them, a growling beast, ready to be tamed. Dean turns to Cas as he reverses out of the courtyard, smiling as he spins the car around, heading full throttle down the tunnelled tree drive, and Cas smiles back, enjoying the mystery, the complete trust he has in this crazy man. He closes his eyes, preparing for a long drive by Dean's side.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, Cas, did you say 'no lovemakin' at all'??

In all honesty, Dean isn’t totally sure where they’re headed. He has a plan, a good formation of an idea about what he wants to happen next, but how to go about it is… still in the works. So he drives on, glancing over at Cas beside him, the kid’s eyes closed, a half-smile on his lips. He’s not asleep, Dean’s sure of it, he’s just revelling in the moment, and Hell, Dean wishes he could do the same. He doesn’t though, for obvious reasons. He is a careful driver, no matter what anyone says.

Dean smiles at the Angelic man beside him, reaching over into his jacket and stealing the flask tucked inside – a present from Dean from a few jobs back. Cas opens his eyes at the feel of it, grinning at the sight of having Dean’s hand under his clothing.

“Goodness, Dean, I know you’re frustrated but somnophilia? Really?”

Dean steers with his elbows for a second, unscrewing the cap of the flask and taking a pull of the deep, golden whisky inside. “Pfft, as if you were sleepin’.”

They drive on for several more miles, the landscape around them flattening out, the sky becoming broader, streaked with pastel colour. Cas fidgets, having drained the last of the whisky from the flask.

“So… You’re really not gonna tell me where we’re goin’?”

Dean grins at him. “You ain’t enjoyin’ the ride, darlin'?”

Castiel smiles back, rolling down his window further and looking out. “Yeah, okay. Keep drivin, Capone. Never stop.”

There’s a turning up ahead, leading into a hilltop road. It looks pretty narrow and bumpy, the kind of dirt road you’d only take if you seriously knew where it led. Dean peers up ahead though, trying to gauge whether the road could snake around the other edge of that jutting hillside, giving a spectacular view no doubt, if so. He reckons it’s worth a shot.

He careers into the dirt road at the last second, earning a curse out of Castiel, who sits up, surprised, to see where the Hell they are. Taking in the road they’re now on, Cas stares at Dean as if he’s gone insane, and leans back, holding onto the seat as he’s jostled about.

At length (long, long length) the Chevrolet stutters up the hill, emerging victorious onto a thin strip of cliff-side road. Dean whoops with joy, praising his own driving talents and leaning over to plant a congratulatory kiss on Cas’s mildly terrified cheek. He spies a clifftop viewpoint up ahead, partially shaded by overhanging trees. He can’t imagine anything more perfect.

He pulls the car gently into the shielded area, turning the engine off and looking over at his partner.

“Shall we?” Dean asks, smiling stupidly, because for once, everything seems pretty damn perfect. The night is stretching endlessly ahead, the air is warm, they have a tank full of gas and a place to themselves. Cas is here and… well. Perfect, yeah.

Castiel still looks a little weirded out by everything, particularly Dean’s attitude. But that's okay, Dean thinks. It's all okay. Cas raises his eyebrows in response to Dean’s question. “Shall we…what?”

Dean smiles widely and turns away, opening his car door. Stepping out into the warm evening air is like nothing on earth- like plunging into a sunlit lagoon, warmed by the reddened earth beneath it. He doesn’t allow himself to look at the view yet, so he runs to Cas’s side of the car, opening his car door before he can get to it and holding out a hand.

Castiel splutters at the ridiculous gesture. “Seriously? What the Hell’s gotten into you, anyhow?”

Dean is insistent though, leaving his hand there outstretched for Cas to take hold, which he does, eventually, rolling his eyes. “Come see.”

Dean leads Cas away from the car, not caring that the door is left wide open; there’s nobody around for miles. It’s just them, now, here. Together they walk to the viewpoint, up a small footpath to higher ground. Dean insists on covering Cas’s eyes, chuckling when he complains, but it’s all worth it.

As they look finally look out, what they see is spectacular, beyond words. Dean can’t comprehend the vastness of the world around him where he stands; he feels as though he might lift off of the floor at any moment. The only thing tethering him to this earth is Cas’s hand, clasped tightly in his. Even that, Dean thinks, may not be enough. They could both so easily fly away.

Dean wonders what Cas is thinking as he takes in the tapestry of colour, the majesty of the immense plains stretching on into the horizon. Every tree, every bird, every pebble blends with the earth, the sky, the beginning tendrils of indigo sunset. Cas, a young, inexperienced dreamer from a small town in Texas – how does this sight appear in his cerulean eyes?

Dean notices almost amusedly that his own eyes have wandered of their own accord; he's no longer looking out at the view, he’s staring at the man beside him. The person he chose, that chose him, that called to him across years and miles and mistakes and decisions. Castiel, his own angel, his saviour from life itself, standing beside him, outshining everything else.

* * *

 

Castiel’s eyes are wet with tears. He can’t turn from the sights before him, the intensity of this moment is so great it’s almost blinding. Did Dean really just stumble upon this place, driving aimlessly? Surely they were drawn here. Castiel feels as though he’s meant to have been here all his life.

Slowly, surely, he turns to Dean, only to find the man watching him already, a kind of awe in his eyes. Castiel tilts his head, not understanding. Why is Dean seeing only him?

Dean steps closer to him, the wind whipping them both, skimming over them, across their skin, through their hair; it’s pleasant though, a warm breeze, it adds to the moment, everything does. Dean leans in, his lips parting, and Castiel closes his eyes, thinking Dean will kiss him now, that it will be the ultimate sensation, to kiss Dean here, now. Everything will culminate in that moment.

Instead, Dean’s lips move to his ear, the paper soft skin brushing against his shell. “I love you, Cas.”

Castiel seizes up, his eyes opening and then widening in surprise. He vaguely registers the feeling of Dean pressing lips to his neck, but the sensation is lost amongst the billions of stars searing through him, igniting every cell in his body, forcing a cry from his lips, salt water from his eyes.

His knees weaken, buckling beneath him and he begins to fall. He closes his eyes tight, anticipating the smack of cracked, clay earth, but it doesn’t come. Dean’s hands catch him, his strong brilliant hands, clasping him before he is injured, swooping him up into a cradle.

“Woah,” Cas hears Dean chuckle, “easy there, Angel. Bit too much for you, maybe? Alright.”

Cas barely understands him, choosing instead to watch his bowed lips move. He suddenly feels so drunk – how much whisky did he have? And how long ago? No, he thinks, it’s just Dean’s words isn’t it, just the effect of them, making his heart race and his head swim… Love? He doesn’t truly… 

Castiel realises they are back at the car; Dean has carried him back there. He clings to Dean as the elder man opens the back door with some difficulty, sliding Cas carefully inside, laying him on the back seat. “There we go, Angel.”

Dean is leaning over him, arranging Cas so that he's comfortable, and Castiel sees that he is about to back out of the car. Cas clings to his jacket collar, holding him in place, desperate suddenly- he can’t go. He can’t. Not now. Dean smiles down at him, shaking his head.

“Dean,” Cas whispers, “you don’t… you said you…”

Dean looks at Cas, his eyes filled with the very same emotion he admitted just a little while before, and Castiel allows himself to believe, just a little bit, that he might have been speaking truth. The thought alone is fathomless. He reaches up and strokes Cas’s hair. “Yeah, Cas. I do. A Hell of a lot.”

Cas whimpers again, and he feels more tears fall from his eyes. He pulls Dean with all his might, begging him to come closer. It’s no longer a desperate, constant wanting, now it’s a need, a starvation that can only have one cure and thankfully, thankfully, Dean surrenders to him. 

* * *

 

Dean lets himself be dragged into the backseat properly, one leg either side of Cas’s, laughing a little nervously at Cas’s desperate, clumsy attempts to force their mouths together. Dean decides to take the lead on this one, pushing Cas down onto the seat and kissing him hard, letting the guy’s hands roam about as they please, even letting Cas push off his jacket. Cas wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, using this leverage to grind them together, something they’ve done in the past, but that Dean has always previously been the one to take control of.

This time though, he finds he just wants to let go, he wants to give Cas everything, wants him to have everything he desires, so he goes with it, responding to Cas’s thrusts, moaning in approval when Castiel’s trepidatious hands wander.

They’ve been kissing for some time when Cas starts trying to wriggle, an attempt to change positions. He is apparently very determined in his endeavour, so Dean reluctantly leans away, trying to understand what he wants. Cas is flushed and panting, his lips wet and reddened – a striking contrast against his jet black hair. He points at Dean.

“You,” he pants, “underneath.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at the command but smiles, kissing Cas messily as they clumsily move positions in the tiny space, Cas not seeming to care that he jabs Dean awkwardly in the chest at least six times in the process. Cas straddles Dean as soon as he is laid out on the backseat, the same position Cas was in just moments ago. Dean stares, reverent, up into Cas's eyes, the younger man's gaze filled with hungry approval.

“Take off your jacket, Cas.” Dean says, surprising himself when his voice comes out low and lustful; he has a weak spot for watching Cas getting undressed. Who the Hell wouldn’t, he thinks.

Cas shivers as he does this, Dean’s voice getting to him, rippling goosebumps up his forearms; Dean sees them, watches the pimpled skin raise, because he tells Cas to keep going, to take the shirt off too.

The second he’s divested of any clothing on his top half, Cas starts to move. Just minutely, rotating his hips in small circles, his heavy-lidded eyes never breaking contact with Dean’s. Dean can withstand it at first, but after a minute or so, he is ready to scream from the frustration of too many layers in the way, too many barriers barring skin from skin. Cas responds to Dean’s growls like he’s heard, his hands flying to Dean’s belt, unbuckling at the speed of light.

Dean’s hands fly out of their own accord, clamping down on Cas’s. He screws his eyes shut, abhorred at his own instinctive reaction. Not again. 

“Dean.” Cas says, his voice soothing, understanding. Dean kind of hates him for it. “Dean it’s okay.”

“S’not.” Dean groans, his eyes still shut tight, using every bit of brain power to try and push the unwanted, restrictive feelings aside. “I want to, I…”

Cas sighs. “Dean, can I suggest somethin’?”

Dean’s eyes flicker open, defeated. He slumps in his position. It's too late, he thinks, he's fucked up for life. No matter how much he wants this - and holy _fuck_ does he want this - his mind will never let him. It's over. Dean shrugs at Cas's question, not caring anymore. “Sure.”

“ _You_ take em off.”

Dean sighs. He reaches for Cas's hand, but Cas pulls it away sharply. “Cas, it won’t help, I can’t-”

“Just try it? For me?”

Dean sighs. It won’t work. He’s too messed up. Getting pants out of the way is a cute idea but it’s not going to solve anything, it can’t. Nevertheless, he owes it to Cas to try, owes him a Hell of a lot more than that, so he gestures for Cas to move out of the way a bit (Cas pushes himself awkwardly against the headrest as best he can) and, with a fair amount of shuffling and swearing, shucks off his pants. And his shoes for good measure.

“And your underwear.” Cas says solemnly. Dean looks at him incredulously. Cas grins. “Just kiddin’.”

“Ha ha.” Dean says sarcastically, laying back down into his former position. He feels Cas shimmying about, moving down his thighs, then off him completely. There's the sound of a car door opening, which makes him smile. Idiot must be having trouble. “Alright then, Romeo. What’s your big ide- _HOLY-”_

* * *

 

Castiel’s not one for bragging, or rather, he is, but hasn’t had a lot of chances recently.

The point is, he’s really, really fucking good at giving head. Ask any of his previous lovers: boys and girls alike – Castiel has a deep throat, a near non-existent gag-reflex and a tongue that won’t quit. Of course, for a person with this vein of very particular talent, it is extremely frustrating not to be able to share them with the person he wants. Now he figures… he’s got the chance.

He doesn’t tell Dean beforehand because obviously he would object. And no, Castiel isn’t trying to force him into anything, he would never dream of it, he just wants to show Dean what he’s missing. He’ll stop at any time, truly he will. He just doesn’t want to, and he suspects Dean won't either.

“ _HOLY-”_ Dean cries out, his hands flying out to grip the leather seats either side of him. Castiel smiles to himself and continues to run the flat side of his tongue over the white cotton stretched over Dean’s thick, heavy and no doubt aching cock. “Shit, Cas- I-I-”

Cas lifts his head to look up at Dean, who is now propped on his elbows, staring down at the miracle occurring below his waist. Castiel has had to actually get out of the car in order for this to work properly; he’s kneeling on the dusty earth, Dean’s legs spread open either side of him, having pulled the man forwards so his feet are on the dry, warm earth outside.

“Shh, baby.” Cas says, smiling at him, rubbing a soothing hand along his upper thigh. Dean moans even at this simple touch, his eyes pleading. “Dean, listen carefully- I can stop right now if you want, do you want me to stop?”

Dean looks at Cas as if he is a certified lunatic. “N-no!”

Cas nods. His mind and soul are high-fiving themselves, his clever, oh-so-patient brain is having its own standing ovation right up there in his head, but externally he is calm, perhaps looking a little pleased with himself as he dives back in, placing a small kiss on Dean's inner thigh. “Excellent. Now lean back again, and be good for me.”

Dean’s breath escapes him in a groan, and he flops back onto the seat, his dick twitching in his underwear, visible now through the transparent patch where Cas has been mouthing. Cas lowers his head at once and continues on, applying his tongue across the length of the shaft in long, broad strokes, caressing the shape of Dean’s slightly curved penis, finding every vein, every knot of nerve-endings, even through the fabric.

“Cas… you, Cas, o-oh, that's it- _fuck..._ ” Dean mutters in the background, apparently not in complete control of his words anymore.

Castiel smiles against him, wanting more already, he's been waiting so long and this is not enough. His hands creep up to the waistband of Dean’s underwear, praying that he doesn’t freak out when he tries this next part. Cas sucks fervently at the moistened area he's been concentrating on, his tongue laving at the wet patch he’s created, and it works. Dean is too distracted to notice as Castiel pulls gently on Dean’s underwear, coaxing it down his hips, and then over firm, perfectly toned buttocks as Dean thrusts his hips forward, seeking more of Cas’s mouth. Castiel doesn’t stop mouthing at him, though of course it's necessary to break away in order to carry on insistently tugging the undergarments down his thighs. At last, with some careful manoeuvring and distracting thigh kisses on Cas's part, they are off, thrown aside, forgotten. Dean’s erection springs free of its confines, a sharp inhale coming from Dean as he feels the warm evening air brush against tender, tingling skin.

Castiel marvels for a second, lost in the brilliance of this moment. All this time, all this waiting- finally, _finally_ he will touch. Taste. Draw the kind of pleasure out of Dean he has wanted to from day one. Dean leans forwards a little, probably wondering at the pause in action; Cas is taking too long, he realises, he can’t do that, not when Dean is so easily spooked about this stuff. He needs to reassure him that there’s nothing wrong here, that they can enjoy each other, that Dean can feel and allow himself to succumb to this.

Castiel leans forwards, taking hold of Dean in one sure, firm hand. He grips him at the base of his dick, knowing the feel of his hand alone must be the sweetest torture for Dean after all this time. He has to remind himself that Dean has been wanting this too, maybe just as much - maybe more - but his mind hasn’t allowed him to follow through.

_Make this one count._

He leans forwards, lowering his head to taste, at last, the sweet tip of Dean, exposed and ready. His tongue sweeps across the head, licking up the droplets of precome that have spilled in anticipation, Dean leaking for him, unable to control himself. Castiel shudders at the thought, the movement shivering through Dean too and making him gasp. Dean couldn’t have tasted better in Cas's wildest of imaginings. His flavour is sharp, fragrant, akin to a shot of tequila downed with salt and lemon, Cas thinks, and just as intoxicating. His tongue swirls about the head, searching for more while Dean moans and writhes beneath him, his hands coming out to clutch at Castiel’s hair.

Without a thought, Castiel takes Dean deeply into his mouth, as far as he can, his lips stretched obscenely, his every sense, his every thought filled with Dean’s incredible taste as the mild gust of air sweeps over them both. Dean cries out, gripping Cas’s hair so hard it hurts, but Castiel doesn’t care, he's no longer on the physical plane. Let Dean have his way with him, let him tear Castiel apart, he's happy in this moment, in this instant, tasting Dean on his tongue, feeling the heavy, blood-warm weight of Dean's desire within him. He sucks, hard, bringing fractured noises out of Dean, making his hips stutter and jerk, so Cas pushes him down, holding him tightly against the seat. He takes Dean deeply, relaxing his throat, shivering as he feels the pressure of Dean hit the back of his neck, swallowing around him as Dean cries out over and over. He loves that he is able to give Dean this, after all Dean has done for him, he can finally give back - in the only way he really knows how.

Dean is muttering wild, incoherent things into the air, confessions of love, of hidden desires that Castiel can barely understand, but that make him smile anyway. He knows Dean is close, and so, hating himself a bit, he pulls off, feeling Dean’s broken cry deep in his soul.

He tries to be quick about this next part, knowing it’s just cruelty to keep Dean hanging on like this. Castiel stands up outside the car, trembling violently, feeling very much as though he himself is in danger of exploding. He avoids Dean’s bewildered eyes because it is necessary for preservation reasons, and shucks off his pants in a quick motion, not caring as they pool on the dusty floor by his feet. He grabs his jacket quickly from where he’d thrown it earlier, in the well below the backseat, and shoves his hand into the inner pocket, finding his wallet in one try thank God. Believe it or not, Castiel is a prepared guy, safety-conscious despite his reckless behaviour, and he pulls out a small pot, no bigger than his palm, the label rubbed off with use. Though not recently, granted.

Dean sucks in a breath at the sight of it, the realisation of where Cas is going with this dawning on his face. He throws his head back, moaning and cursing, biting his lip, and Cas is momentarily too overcome with desire to do anything but stare. Then Dean comes, violently, with a wrack of tremors undulating through his every muscle. He pours his white hot seed over his abdomen, eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging open, before falling slackened back onto the seat.

“Shit,” he says after a moment, breathing heavily. “Cas, sorry I just- I couldn’t hold on, I-”

Cas is already there, back on top of Dean, his bum perched purposefully just over Dean’s spent dick. He kisses Dean, languorous, deeply and passionately, feeling Dean open up beneath him, vulnerable and probably feeling better than he has in months.

“Shh, shh,” Castiel says against Dean’s lips, “you’re perfect. That was perfect. God, Dean you are so beautiful.”

Dean kisses him with more fervour then, pulling him close by the back of his head, smoothing a hand over his shoulders, down his back, down the length of his arm, fingers finding the pot still clutched in Castiel’s hand. Dean pauses for a second, breaking the kiss to turn and look at what Cas is holding.

“Cas…” Dean starts to say, not taking his eyes off the pot. “Can I…?”

Cas just about manages to resist the urge to scream ‘Hell fucking yes’ and instead calmly hands Dean the object he desires, leaning back a little so he’s sitting atop Dean’s hips. Just because he wants to, he rolls his own hips a little, and to his surprise, Dean’s dick jumps beneath him, finding new life. Cas grins, this could still go the way he planned.

* * *

 

Dean observes the small object in his hand, a plastic jar of a viscous, translucent jelly. Vaseline, he thinks wryly, and wonders absently how long Cas has been carrying this around. Probably always has it on him, thinks Dean idly, and then wonders why he even cares. It’s hardly his fault; his thoughts are just a little jumbled, his mind off-kilter thanks to the mind-blowing experience he just went through. He pops the lid off of the Vaseline, dipping two fingers into the silky, thick gel, getting a good heap of it smeared on his skin, because he knows what he wants to do next, and he wants to be prepared.

Cas is watching his every movement, breathing heavily, his dick hard and stretching the material of his underwear. Dean swallows, feeling the perspiration drip down his neck, pooling in his clavicle; Cas tracks it with his eyes.

“Take them off.” Dean intones, and he doesn’t even have to break eye contact with Cas to show him he means the underwear. Castiel scrambles to comply, an excited glint in his wild eyes that Dean doesn’t miss.

As Dean watches him now, he can’t help but feel incredibly foolish. All along, here was this stunning, other-worldly, ethereal creature, surely belonging to a species long ago forgotten, and he had wanted Dean all along. Had already proven his willingness to fight by Dean's side through the good times and the bad, leaving everything he had ever known in the rearview mirror of a stolen Ford to run away with a mad stranger. This beautiful creature had seen something within Dean from their first meeting. Something that Dean might never have believed was there if it weren’t for Cas. Castiel, this incredible miracle, is something Dean should have never denied anything, but he did, and for so long. Castiel didn’t want much. The only thing he has ever wanted is Dean, and Dean has deprived him.

_It’s time to change that._

“I’m… ready.” Castiel near-whispers, his chest expanding with the laboured breaths he’s having to suck in.

Dean tries to stay cool, tries to regain his confident, bad-boy demeanour that Cas gets off on so much, because he wants Cas to feel incredible, wants him to experience everything Dean has hidden from him for so long, and more besides. He takes a moment, raking his gaze over the inexplicable beauty of Cas’s naked body, his broad shoulders, his glittering, sunkissed skin, taut where his collarbones jut through, a hidden razor-edged sword. Cas’s breaths speed up as he sees Dean looking, and Dean licks his lips slowly, deliberately, moving his eyes to the younger man’s torso. Flashing orbs of green in Dean's eyes track Cas's slender shape, his defined muscle, then his hips, and finally down to his exposed, feverishly pinkened penis, swollen with need, begging to be touched, caressed.

Dean loses his train of thought with the staring. He licks his lips at the feast laid out before him, his eyes darkening somewhat. This is all his, to do with as he pleases. Why was he afraid before? It seems nonsensical now, John’s voice is nowhere to be heard in his mind. He and Cas, that’s all there is. Their twisted, fucked-up, painful and goddamn beautiful story is all that matters in the world now, and it will last until the end of time. Their love will transcend nature, transcend death and the laws of science. Cas is his, he is Cas’s, they will come together, because that is how it is meant to be.

Cas was right.

“Come here.” Dean growls at Cas, noting from the mildly surprised look on Cas’s face that he must have been silent a long while. Cas was probably thinking he was about to chicken out again. Ha.

Dean moves backward until he is sitting, his back against the far door of the car, his legs outstretched before him on the seat. Cas shimmies closer obediently, making his way down to straddle Dean’s lap. He does so, both of them gasping and cursing as erect tissue connects with erect tissue; Dean’s already half-hard again, and he knows it won’t be a problem in a moment’s time. Cas grips his shoulders, pushing himself forwards against Dean, grinding because he’s impatient and he is obviously hiding his desperation. Dean stops him with firm hands, looking him in the eyes, stern and unforgiving.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Dean asks, and Cas’s eyes roll back into his head, his teeth clamping over his bottom lip when he realises Dean is talking to him the way he loves, playing the commander, the one in charge. Dean can’t help it, the way Cas’s head is thrown back is too much- he leans in and bites at the exposed skin there, kissing and sucking bruises, winding his arms around Cas’s waist so that he can feel the shudders running through him. He breaks away, bringing Cas’s chin down with one hand. “Here’s what you’re gonna do Cas. You’re gonna take this,” Dean reaches for Cas’s right hand, still clamped on his shoulder, and smears his fingers with the Vaseline he’s been careful not to rub off, “and you’re gonna open yourself up for me, sugar, alright?”

Cas is looking wrecked already, his face tortured with desire at Dean’s words alone. He manages a nod, kneeling up slightly on wobbly legs to find the right angle.

“Good, Angel.” Dean purrs as Cas’s hand reaches behind him, his face flickering in surprise and pleasure as he finds the spot he’s looking for. Yep, Dean thinks, feeling the heat rise inside him as Cas continues, getting hard will be no problem at all. “That’s it, baby. So fuckin’ hot aren’t you? Such a little tease. You know how long I’ve wanted this, huh?” Cas’s first finger is inside himself now, and his hips move carefully against it, Dean half-babbling because he’s so entranced. Cas shakes his head though, wanting to answer Dean, to please him, so Dean continues, because Cas likes it. “How long I’ve wanted to grab you and fuck you? Bury myself inside your perfect little ass?” Dean’s hands skim down to Cas’s cheeks then, squeezing gently and pulling them apart so that Cas has better access.

Cas whimpers, his eyes screwed shut and then flickering, sweat curling his thick black hair. “Dean, fuck… h-how long?”

Dean grins to himself. “Hm? You wanna know Cas?” Dean moves one of his hands away from Cas’s bum slowly, reaching back for the Vaseline. He manages one-handed to get another scoop of the stuff onto his two fingers, without Cas noticing a thing. “I’ll tell you, sugar." He pauses, leaning close to Cas for effect, their lips brushing as he speaks. "First time I fuckin’ saw you, every thought in my head was nothin’ but filth I swear to God. You and me, alone in that kitchen? Took all my strength not to hoist you up on the counter and have my way with you right there.”

Cas is muttering something now, a stream of obscenities by the sounds of things, his finger working in and out more and more thoroughly at each word Dean speaks. So Dean grins wickedly, deciding to join the party, and moves his jelly covered hand to where Cas’s finger is disappearing inside himself. Before Cas even sees what’s happening, Dean pushes his own finger inside, rubbing against Cas’s, both of them fucking him open slowly, the sounds Cas is making becoming erratic, drawn out.

Dean can’t help himself, seeing Cas like this, speared on his own finger, it’s too much. He has to touch himself, has to ground himself; he clasps a hand around his dick, jerking himself slowly in time with their fingers. Cas watches him desperately, batting his hand away, using his own instead.

Quite the multi-tasker, Dean thinks in a fractured sort of way as Cas strokes him while fingering himself.

“Dean…” Cas moans, broken and pleading. “Dean, fuck me, please.”

Dean groans, low and long, working hard not to come again from just those words. “Cas, fuckin’ hell.”

“Please, Dean, I’m- I’m ready for you.” Castiel furthers, panting uncontrollably, sliding his own finger out of himself so that it’s just Dean now. Cas is demonstrating already, moving himself up and down on Dean’s finger, and for a split second Dean imagines what it would be like if it was his dick in there. He moans again, seizing up with the toe-curling pleasure of that mere thought. “I need you, Dean, fuck.”

“God, you will be the death of me.” Dean says, stopping Cas’s movements with his free hand, and pulling out of Cas with the other. “You sure?”

Cas nods frantically, already trying to manoeuvre himself into position atop Dean’s erection.

“Hey, c’mon Angel.” Dean manages to say in the most commanding voice he’s got to hand. “Easy does it. Let me just…”

Cas writhes impatiently, but allows Dean to coat himself with some more Vaseline before attempting to sit on him again. Once he’s finished, Dean looks up at Cas, nods, and that’s all the confirmation Cas needs.

There is no way to fully describe the unearthly sensation Dean feels as Cas’s tight, warm entrance opens up slowly around him, pulling him in, as Dean fits himself inside the snug space, inside Cas. The slippery heat of it, the feeling of Cas’s muscles dancing around the most sensitive area of his being- it is utterly exceptional, Dean knows instantly that there is truly nothing better than this. Cas moans as he sinks slowly down, his fingernails raking over Dean’s chest, clasping Dean to him, colliding their lips messily, until he’s fully sheathed, breathing hard, and begins to move.

There’s no time for Dean to recover from the shock of Cas enveloping him before he’s moving, raising himself up, using Dean’s shoulders for support, and then sinking down again, rolling his hips as he goes, creating the most incredible friction, sending Dean freefalling into a high he has never experienced thus far.

“Fuck, Cas, oh my God-”

“Yes, God, Dean, say more things to me.”

Dean’s addled, sex-clouded brain takes a moment or two to comprehend that request, but eventually he complies, though he’s not sure how well he does.

“You’re so hot, Cas. So freakin’ hot, I can’t believe I never… Fuck don’t stop.”

It seems to do the trick for Cas at any rate, bringing noises out of him that Dean never knew existed. Dean starts moving his hips in time with Cas, changing the angle of the thrusts, and suddenly Cas cries out, loud and shattered, as though he's been shot, making Dean stutter.

“Oh, holy _fuck_ do that again.” Castiel says desperately after a moment or two of recovery time. He's no longer moving, apparently too stunned to do more than go along with it as Dean grabs hold of his waist, pulls him close and thrusts up into him, hitting the same spot again as Cas cries out, brilliant and broken in his arms. His prostate, some long ago textbook of Sammy’s Dean read while helping his brother with homework supplies helpfully, it’s supposedly like a pleasure button for guys, he’s read that definitely. So Dean, feeling the orgasm building, coiling inside of him, grips Cas tightly, leaning him backwards until he falls back onto the seat in the opposite direction, his head half poking out of the door. Dean manages to stay inside him somehow, pressing their bodies together, Cas's legs spread wide.

Shuffling a little to get the right angle, he aims for that spot that got Cas screaming before, hitting it over and over, Cas going weak in his arms. He thrusts longer, deeper, ploughing mercilessly into the man beneath him as he claws and shouts his pleasure to the empty world. Dean doesn't let up, doesn't let himself falter for a moment, using Cas's flushed, sweat-dampened face to motivate him if he feels the exhaustion, just continuing to massage that same spot with the head of his dick until, all at once, Cas is creaming, his come splashing over them both, soaking them, his body rigid with the force of his orgasm.

Dean feels Cas’s muscles clamping around him, squeezing as he pushes in and out, and in seconds he’s coming too, filling Cas up, the spurt of his seed sending more endless shockwaves through the man beneath him, both of them moaning each other’s names into delicate, exhausted skin. Dean flops onto Cas without apology; Cas doesn't seem to mind in any case, he just runs a hand feebly through Dean's hair.

“In case there was any doubt, Dean,” Cas says a good ten minutes later, both of them having draped themselves over and around each other in a semi-comfortable position, their heads sticking out of the open door slightly so that they can see the stars, “I fucking love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this huge chapter of naughtiness. This was a long time coming I feel, pun intended ;) x


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, life ain't so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry about the Hellishly late arrival of this chapter. I truly am. There's probably no one left reading this. But look, I updated! I WILL finish this goddamn it. I will. I'm determined. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading.

“Sit the fuck down.” Henrikson bellows, ignoring the swell of pride he feels as his subordinates immediately follow his orders, crumbling under the weight of his authority. As well they should. “Why have I called you here today?”

No one speaks. Not one lily-livered cop dares to even look him in the eye for more than two seconds as he gazes around the small room. There’s gotta be ten guys in here, maybe a dozen, and not an ounce of bravery between them.

“I said,” Henrikson repeats, striding forwards a little, making his presence known, “why have I called you numb-skulls in here today, hm?”

This time, a voice, shakier than a lamb taking its first step, pipes up from somewhere near the back. At least the guy makes an effort.

“Is it b-because you want updates on the W-Winchester gang case, sir?”

Henrikson smiles, folding his arms. Ah, what a pleasant world it would be if things were that simple. If he could just follow procedure normally and everyone would just do their fuckin’ jobs.

“No.” He replies, curt and unforgiving. The shaky guy slumps down, looking terrified. “I mean, it’s not that I wouldn’t like some updates on the criminals that have been terrorising the Southern states for _months_ –“ Henrikson pauses, and if it’s for dramatic effect, well sue him. “It’s just that I know not a single one of you has any goddamn idea where to look for them! Am I right?”

Again, the pregnant silence that fills the room indicates very much that none of these idiots know a damn thing about basic Police-work.

“Right.” Henrikson says, nodding to himself. “Well, excuse me for thinkin’ this, but I’ve just about had enough of them. I think it’s about time they oughta be caught. So here’s what I propose: we go over the evidence.”

He hears a collective sigh, and his skin prickles. Any work at all and they’re bending over backwards to get out of it. Goddamn lazy bastards.

“So, what have we got?”

Henrikson waits, expectant, his face clearly spelling out ‘don’t-mess-with-me’.

“Patrick O’Donell.” One of them says at length, a bored looking officer in the front, his uniform in disarray. Henrikson steps towards him. “The witness.”

“Ah, yes. Our lovely Irish heartthrob.” Henrikson says, smirking. “As much as I loved that foreign piece of scum, he did manage to confirm the identity of one Dean Winchester, a recent convict of McLennon County.”

The bored officer nods, almost rolling his eyes, as if he’s heard this a thousand times. Henrikson forces himself to stay calm. _Wait till you’ve heard it a million times, kid_ , Henrikson thinks. _Wait till every scrap of information about Dean fucking Winchester is etched permanently into your brain. Then maybe I’ll spare you some sympathy._

“Okay, what else?” Henrikson asks.

This time, a couple more hands go up, slightly more sure of themselves now that someone else has broken the ice.

Henrikson picks one at random. A blonde guy, sitting to the right. “Well, we know from hostage testimony that Dean has a… partner.”

There are several loud snickers erupting around the room then, probably due to what the rumours are surrounding Winchester (the elder) and his supposed ‘partner in crime’. Henrikson grimaces – the very thought makes his stomach churn.

“Name?” Henrikson shouts over the laughter.

“Uh, Cas-Castiel? Is that right?” Someone shouts back, and more laughs sound from the group.

“Alright, enough!” Henrikson cries, loud enough to silence them all. “Shut your mouths, can’t you be goddamn professionals?” There are a few more titters, but it goes quiet then, mercifully. Henrikson would really rather change the subject from _sodomy._ Particularly involving that particular infuriating little shit.“So we got Castiel – last name not included with that one – Dean Winchester, who else?”

“Uh, his brother. Sam.” It’s the bored guy again. Henrikson gives him a withering look for his attitude.

“Right. Sam and Dean Winchester, both ex-cons. Castiel, a guy Dean picked up along the way, and…?” Henrikson waits, bored of this now, wanting someone to just name the Asian kid so they can move along with this.

“Sam’s wife.” The bored guy says, and this time he wears a leer. He looks to some of his fellow workmates, raising his eyebrows. There are several noises of approval; some fool even has the audacity to wolf-whistle. “Ruby Winchester.”

Henrikson stops short. He tries to remain calm, to stay professional, but under the circumstances that seems impossible.

“A-a female?” Henrikson asks, closing his eyes to ward off the frustration.

The bored guy turns back to him, brow furrowed. “What? You didn’t know that?”

Henrikson resists the urge to choke this damn fool right here and now. Barely. “How in the Hell would I know that?! How do you know that? For fuck’s sake, this right here, this could cost us _lives,_ men! If you find this information out, you damn well _tell_ your superior!”

“Sorry!” The bored guy says, straightening in his seat a little when he realises he’s in trouble. It’s only then that Henrikson notices how lanky the guy is. “I’m sorry Agent, I just… I assumed you’d know by now anyway. She… came by here. Lookin’ for you.”

Agent Henrikson almost faints in disbelief. Once this case is over he’s never accepting a job working the field again. Dealing with imbeciles like this… it’s just not worth it. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He wonders what to ask first, truly. When did she come by? Did they detain her? Question her about anything? Did they let her go? Is she planning to return? Is she-

At that precise moment, just as Henrikson is ready to tear the head off of any and all officers who dare look at him from this moment forwards, Hannah, the secretary, pokes her head around the door.

“Agent Henrikson? Sorry to interrupt. A Mrs Winchester is here to see you?”

Oh man, thinks Henrikson, taking a step backwards, these damned idiots are lucky this time.

* * *

 

Eventually night falls, meaning Castiel and Dean have to untangle themselves from each other, re-clothe and begin the journey home. Castiel tries to protest at first, attempting to convince Dean to stop moving and putting on unnecessary clothes by bargaining with him, offering sordid things that he’s fairly shocked at himself for uttering. He would quite literally do anything for this moment never to end, so it seems.

“Cas,” Dean laughs, clasping hold of Cas’s wrists and freeing himself from the hold Castiel has locked around his neck, “c’mon I don’t wanna leave either, but what about Sammy, or Kev? They’re gonna start wonderin’ all sorts.”

Dean manages to sit up, much to Castiel’s disapproval, and while the older man slides his shirt back on, Castiel gets on his knees, beginning to press gentle kisses to his neck.

“Let them wonder.” Cas says, trying to get his voice as seductive as possible. It doesn’t work, annoyingly; Dean just laughs again, grabbing him around the waist and kissing him hard - which is great, but then he lets go. Cas can only sigh helplessly as Dean opens the door on the opposite side, climbing out of the car. “How can you think about going back to that? We could just camp out here, forever.”

He hears Dean laughing from outside the car and frowns.

“I’m sure that’d be great, Cas.” There’s a pause, and then Dean opens the driver’s side door, sliding into the front. He’s fully dressed again, damn it. Cas watches helplessly as Dean turns to the backseat to smile at him. “And what about when you get all pissy cause of our living conditions again, huh?”

Castiel splutters. “That was one time.” Dean raises an eyebrow, still smiling. Cas decides to fix that straight out. “I’ll trade luxury and riches for your lovin’ any day, Winchester.”

Dean colours, turning back to the front again, disguising his answering splutter as a cough. Cas smiles to himself. He might like it when Dean slides into that sexy, dominating persona, but Cas still likes having this ounce of the upper hand over Dean in regards to sex. It’s just amusing, if anything.

“C’mon, get your lazy ass up and dressed already.” Dean says after a while, startling Cas out of his daydream. “I wanna make it back in time for food.”

Cas sighs, loud enough that Dean hears it, chuckling again, but he complies.

* * *

 

“Hey, sweetheart, you got a smoke on you?” Dean asks, some way down the long, seemingly never-ending road that stretches on ahead, leading them back to inevitable reality.

Cas, who had actually been asleep, blinks a few times, taking in his surroundings, and then nodding sleepily. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarette case. Dean bought it for him – properly bought it too, didn't steal it, maybe because it was made especially for him. Castiel lets it rest in his palm for a moment, studying it as he always does, marvelling at the beauty of this object – something that not that long ago he would never have believed he could even touch in his lifetime. It’s silver plated, slight and rectangular, holding exactly twelve cigarettes. On the front, in careful scripture, is the word _Castiel_ , unmistakeable and perfect. It’s his prized possession.

“You just gonna stare at them, or can I actually smoke one?” Dean asks, grinning a little at Cas.

Castiel rolls his eyes at Dean, flipping the case open, pulling out two slim, white sticks. He places them both in his mouth and digs for his lighter. After taking a long pull on both, cheekily, he hands one to Dean.

“Enjoy.” Cas says, turning to roll down his window. He wishes he knew how to blow smoke rings. Dean probably knows. Cas will have to get him to teach him some time. As the landscape rolls by, Cas thinks of something, idly. “So, did you have any idea where we were goin’ earlier?”

Dean drags on his cigarette, his eyes sliding over to Cas. “No idea.”

Cas grins at him. “So, what, you were just overcome with desire for me and decided to find a nice, secluded spot-”

“God, you make it sound so seedy!” Dean cries, laughing. “I just… aw man, I dunno I just… I wanted us to be alone for a while, just so I could… tell you.”

Dean is shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and Cas doesn’t miss it. Dean’s cigarette is half out, so Cas leans over with the flame, re-igniting him.

“Tell me?” Cas prompts.

Dean sighs, looking over at Cas as if exasperated. “Yeah, c’mon you know what I mean.”

Cas does know. Of course he knows. But he has to hear it again, he needs it, like the very oxygen his lungs crave, he needs to hear Dean say it, even just one more time. So he plays dumb.

“…Nope. What are you gettin’ at, stud?”

This time, Dean leans over and swats him in the shoulder, cursing under his breath. Cas tries to hold in the laughter, swatting Dean back as if annoyed. “Ow, what?!”

“You _know,_ Cas.” Dean insists, running a hand through his hair. “Are you really gonna make me say it again?”

God, how can three little words get a guy so riled up?, Cas wonders, noticing Dean’s tensed shoulders, the nervous tick of his hand, the amount of ash Dean flicks out the window. He decides to change tack. He scoots closer to Dean, pressing himself against Dean’s side, placing a hand on his thigh. Dean shivers, and Cas will be damned if he’s not storing that reaction away forever.

“Please?”

He tries not to sound pathetic, or whiny, or even flirtatious. He’s just genuinely asking, because this is important, damn it. These words might just be the very thing that save his life one day.

Dean side eyes him, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and tossing it out the window. He licks his lips briefly, calculating, and Cas holds his breath. Then Dean smiles, and it’s like a fucking sunrise it’s so beautiful.

“I love you, Cas.”

Okay, so Cas may have overestimated his tolerance levels for this kind of thing, after all, the last time Dean said that he damn well collapsed in the guy’s arms. Now he just melts, he can feel it happening, every cell in his body liquidising in an instant until he’s nothing but a sun-warmed pool of happiness soaking into the upholstery.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, Cas isn’t sure. Dean looks over at him every so often, smiling, and Cas just stares in awe.

“You know,” Cas says, the words just tumbling from his lips before he has a chance to process them, “you’re the first person who’s ever told me that.”

His eyes slip closed then, and the last thing he remembers is Dean’s face, the drop of his lower lip, the widening of his big, beautiful eyes.

* * *

 

Early in the morning, they’re greeted back at the hideout by Sam, who bounds up to them golden retriever-style, matching his personality incredibly well, Dean thinks to himself, amused.

“You’re back!” Sam cries, enveloping them both into a crushing hug, which they return, highly amused once more. “Man, do you know how worried we’ve been? We thought you’d gotten pissed about that article and then done somethin’ stupid. We’ve been listenin’ to the news on the radio non-stop, sure we’d hear- never mind.”

“You thought we’d hit up another bank?” Cas asks, lighting up a cigarette. Dean nudges him in the ribs, and Cas sighs at him, digging into his pocket for another one.

“Hell, we didn’t know what to think.” Sam says, huffing a relieved laugh.

“I had some suggestions.”

Dean glances up, noticing Ruby in the room for the first time, in a chair by the window. She has a copy of The Picture Of Dorian Gray in her scarlet-clawed hands, and she fixes Dean with a knowing, cruel little smile.

“Well it’s hardly surprisin' nobody gave a crap what you think.” Dean says before he can stop himself, smiling right back at her, and Sam sighs.

Ruby’s eyes grow murderous, and she slams her book closed, tossing it aside and standing. “You wanna know what I think you two were doing?”

“Ruby, enough with this-” Sam tries to say, but Ruby just stalks towards them.

“I think you took your little pretty little piece of jailbait over there somewhere off the map, and then you _defiled_ him.” Ruby hisses, and Dean’s heart seems to stop. Not in front of Sammy… “You think I haven’t told your precious Sammy every goddamned sordid little thing I’ve caught you doing, Dean? You’re disgusting, you’re an abomination-”

At that second, Cas steps forwards, grabs hold of Ruby by the arm, and pulls her close. She shuts up at once, stunned by the action, her face a mixture of confusion and wariness. “Hey, lady, shut the Hell up.”

Dean watches, utterly transfixed, as Ruby’s jaw tightens, her eyes narrowing at Cas’s impertinence. Weirdly, Dean can feel a flame of arousal flickering to life within him, watching Cas like this, his face stoic and calm, but utterly ferocious. Even Ruby seems to know it’s better not to say anything right now.

“You talk to him like that, and I got no problem emptying a full round of bullets into your thick skull.” Cas continues, voice as steady as if he were talking about the weather. “You got a problem? Get the fuck out. I can’t think of a single person that really wants you here anyway.”

With that, Cas drops her like she’s burning, pushes past her and stalks into his and Dean’s room. Sam and Dean stare after him in awe.

“Sam,” Ruby says coldly, her face furious, “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Sam gulps, throwing an apologetic look at his brother as Ruby grabs his arm and marches him into the only other room in this shithole. Dean just blinks at his now empty surroundings, unable to comprehend what the Hell just occurred. Did Cas just totally own Ruby on Dean’s behalf? That guy deserves so many orgasms, Dean thinks, rubbing a hand over his face. Man, he was one Hell of a lucky find.

Just as Dean starts to make his way, somewhat eagerly, to his and Cas’s room, he hears footsteps on the stairs. He freezes, spinning on the spot and reaching for his gun, only to realise he left it across the room when he came in. But it’s just Kevin. He’s soaking wet, hair dripping everywhere, and using what looks like an old curtain as a towel. Outdoor showers fucking suck, Dean doesn’t need anyone to tell him that.

“Hey, Dean. You’re back.” He pauses, looking about the room. “What’d I miss?”

* * *

 

Cas’s blood is still boiling when Dean finally enters the room after him. He looks over to the door to find the older man grinning, and before he knows it, he’s being grabbed, squeezed and kissed so fiercely it’s taking his breath away a little.

“Mmmph- Dean,” Cas manages to stutter out, finding his hands winding around Dean of their own accord, “what’s this for?”

Dean’s only response is to trail his hands down Cas’s back, over the bump of his ass, until they’re resting on the backs of his thighs. With an astounding strength that goes straight to Cas’s dick, Dean lifts, hoisting Cas’s legs up around his waist. Cas clings on eagerly, deepening the kiss because that was damn hot, and Dean presses him against a wall, tongue fucking into Cas’s mouth like it holds the secrets of the universe.

It’s a bit of a shock when Dean releases him, obviously. Cas slides down the wall, now face to face with Dean, both of them breathing heavily.

“You okay there, gorgeous?” Dean asks, amused, and he tucks a stray curl behind Cas’s ear.

“Th-think so.” Cas breathes, hands clinging to Dean’s shirt. “Come back here, Capone.”

Dean’s brow creases for a second, and then Cas’s hand travels to the back of his neck, pulling their lips together again. Dean hums a noise of approval against Cas’s mouth, so Cas decides to push the boundaries a little, reaching for Dean’s belt. The sweet silence of Dean’s ready, willing consent for this now is the greatest feeling Castiel can imagine. He dips his fingers into the once forbidden regions of Dean’s pants, stroking his fingers over the soft fabric of Dean’s underwear, which does a poor job of hiding Dean’s growing erection.

Dean breathes out heavily, breaking the kiss to mouth at Cas’s neck, lips dragging over his pulse, biting when Cas’s fingers apply more pressure. The noise Cas makes when he bites down – God, it’s like an Angel’s cry of ecstasy, and Dean curses himself for never finding out before how much Cas likes to do this to him. He has to hear it again, so his teeth sink into flesh over and over; he’ll leave marks, people could notice – but he doesn’t care.

Cas’s fingers are scrabbling at the waistband of his underwear, and all too soon they are slipping inside, brushing over the sensitive, engorged flesh of Dean’s cock, wrapping around it.

“Fuck…” Dean whispers against Cas’s throat. “Feels good, baby. You touchin’ me like that.”

“I’ve wanted to… for so long, I…” Cas’s voice sounds broken, desperate, and Dean hasn’t even had his hands on him yet. And hold on a minute… he can’t let that become a habit. It’s Cas’s turn to go first, right?

“Shh, sweetheart.” Dean replies, pressing his hand softly over Cas’s mouth. “Why don’t you go lie down on the bed; I’m gonna take care o’you.”

Cas’s eyes widen, but his fingers fall slack around Dean’s cock. Dean tries not to feel too disappointed; the kid’s only doing as he says.

“Good, angel.” Dean purrs, taking the hand away from his mouth. “Go on.”

Castiel goes dumbly, maintaining eye contact with Dean for as long as possible, as if checking he’s doing it right. Dean just watches him, fire in his gut as his mind runs greedily over all the things he could do with Cas right now, on this crummy mattress in a falling apart house in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Cas lies down obediently, just like Dean asked. “Now what?”

“Why don’t you take off all your clothes? That’ll certainly help things.” Dean says, his amusement flavouring his words.

Cas pauses for a second, seeming to gather himself, and then obliges. The pants come off first, along with the belt, then the suit jacket, the shirt – unbuttoned with slow, teasing precision Dean is sure – and then, finally the underwear. It’s a great thing, having Cas naked before him, Dean thinks, his hands unconsciously moving to slide off his own jacket, to free himself of a shirt, too.

“God, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous, Cas.” Dean says, stepping towards him, and noticing the kid is shivering. Whether it’s from anticipation, nerves, or even the coolness of the early morning, Dean doesn’t know. “Y’know that?” He straddles Cas then, one knee pressing into the shabby mattress either side of his hips. “Gorgeous.”

Cas has begun breathing a little strangely, little short puffs of air, swallowed by the occasional gulp. He’s trembling even more now that Dean is on top of him, which makes Dean think he’s not cold. He’s just eager, excited even, so Dean reaches for his hands, slipping his fingers between Cas’s. The kid’s eyes are wide, pupils so dilated that the clear blue is barely a sliver. His gaze transfixes itself onto Dean’s bared torso, sliding down to the open ‘V’ of his pants.

“What’re you thinkin’ sweetheart?” Dean asks, watching with interest as Cas tips his head back, eyes closing before he answers.

“I’m thinking that if you don’t move soon, I’m going to die.”

“Move?” Dean echoes, a smile in his voice because he hadn’t realised how desperate Cas was until now. “Like this?”

Without another word, Dean rolls his hips, grinding forwards into Cas’s hardness, smiling as Cas gasps, back arching off the bed, his hands squeezing Dean's tight.

“Oh, God, do that again.” Cas begs, his voice filled with a thousand pleas.

Well, Dean thinks, neck growing damp as Cas locks eyes with him, he really can’t say no to that request. He waits for a couple of seconds, drinking in the beautiful, wrecked expression Cas wears so well, and then he moves again. Cas’s eyes fly closed, a shudder running through him that Dean can feel. Yeah, okay, he needs to step this up a notch.

He ignores Cas’s sounds of affronted protest as Dean clambers off him, sliding off the bed altogether and kneeling just before where Cas’s legs dangle off the edge. Sighing with deep contentment, Dean smooths his hands over Cas’s bared shins, finding the backs of his knees and yanking hard, pulling Castiel towards him, so his ass is perched on the edge now, just where Dean wants him.

Cas is still laid flat on his back, still shivering slightly, probably not helped by the fact Dean’s hands seem to have a mind of their own, passing over every jut and curve of Cas’s lower body, learning the skin, feeling it beneath his own.

Dean takes a long time then to stare at Cas’s cock. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him, thick and full, strained with want. All flushed and heavy just for him, Dean thinks, licking his lips unconsciously, just as he starts to hear the first whimpers escape from Cas’s lips at the feel of his wandering hands.

It’s not that Dean has no experience with what he’s planning to do. On the contrary, he’s done this too many times to count, but always in secret, always with a heavy, dirty feeling in his gut that left him feeling disgusted, self-loathing in the hours that followed. His time with Benny was the only thing even remotely close to what he’s about to embark upon with Cas, and even that was strikingly different because – Hell – he didn’t _love_ Benny. He didn’t think he could love anyone like this, if he’s honest.

He thought that sordid, secretive and shameful hook-ups like those he and Benny had would be the only thing he’d ever have. Not… kissing against the window of a fucking Riviera view hotel, or doing something that felt a lot like making love in the back of a car at sunset, on a clifftop viewpoint at the edge of the world. Or even this, just feeling Cas beneath him, pure and trusting and hot and _incredible._

So yeah, in a way, Dean thinks of this as his first time. He glances up, noticing Cas has propped himself up on his elbows and is now watching him. A little awkward, thinks Dean, his hands slowing to a stop on Cas’s knife-sharp hipbones. He shoots the kid a cheeky grin in response to his concerned expression, and pushes him hard in the chest, sending him flying back down onto the bed.

The first thing Dean does is wrap his hand around the length of Cas, hearing the sharp inhale of breath Cas takes at his touch. He moves his fingers slowly, experimentally, stroking up and down, almost tauntingly gentle, until he hears a breathy, “Dean”.

Something about that simple word, just hearing his own name in Cas’s rough, gorgeous voice, it spurs him onwards. He has to make Cas feel amazing. It’s like his life’s mission from here on out. He left the kid waiting long enough, now it’s time to make up for it.

So, without warning, Dean dips his head forwards the few extra inches, pressing his lips against the head of Cas’s dick. Cas jerks, swearing once, quick and fast, which makes Dean smile. Dean slides his tongue down the length of Cas then, careful and precise, because he knows what he’s doing, and he knows how to tease.

Sure enough, a few more long licks and Cas is practically writhing beneath him, his hands clawing at the mattress, his voice a litany of pleas and curses.

And hey, Dean can be merciful. Sometimes. He slides his lips over Cas’s cock then, sinking down, deeper and deeper, feeling the familiar bump against his throat, his gag reflex warning him to stop, but he concentrates hard, ignoring it, fitting as much of Cas into him as he can.

“Fuck, fuck! Dean- _oh!”_

The words, nonsensical as they may be, are music to Dean’s ears. He feels Cas’s fingers curl into his hair, feels the kid try to push his hips forwards slightly, but he’s quick to stop it, holding Cas’s hips in place against the bed. Dean’s own cock is aching now, practically begging to be touched, but again, he’s had a long time to practice ignoring that particular sensation, so he just starts to bob his head, mouth tight around Cas, knowing just how to do this.

Cas’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he moans, the sound sending shivers down Dean’s spine. His tongue flicks softly at the underside of Cas’s dick, and Dean can practically feel the sparks it sends through Cas every single time.

After a while, Dean picks up the pace, his mouth moving with increased friction as he bobs his head faster. Cas’s breathing picks up, and Dean can feel the pulse of his blood, thrumming like he’s running a goddamn marathon.

“Dean, oh, fuck, don’t st-top-” Cas cries out, sounding broken and dishevelled, which just spurs Dean on further.

His mouth is full of the taste of Cas, and he slurps quietly, gathering the juices collected on his tongue, savouring them as his eyes flutter closed. He tastes like Heaven would taste, Dean is sure, even if he never gets to see it. He swallows around the head of Cas’s cock, and Cas jack-knifes at the sensation, crying out loudly before flopping back down.

That’s it then, Dean just speeds up further, as much as he can, sucking hard and using his tongue to lap against the frenulum. He feels Cas tensing, feels him practically digging his fingers into Dean’s scalp, his words nothing but a stream of filth by this point, though Dean thinks he catches his name in there somewhere.

Then, suddenly, Cas is coming, crying out with it, his back arched off the bed, his hips begging to thrust forwards under Dean’s firm grip. Dean feels the hot seed flood his mouth, swallowing it greedily, even as Cas lets out a final few spurts.

Cas sags, boneless, into the mattress, and Dean pulls away, with slight reluctance if he’s honest, wiping his lower lip with the back of his hand. Because he’s an asshole, he presses a kiss to a sensitive area near Cas’s groin before clambering up to lie next to him, earning himself a weak slap on the shoulder.

“Unnngh.” Is all Cas says, is maybe all he can say, though Dean can see the appreciation in Cas’s eyes when he looks. He grins, feeling a little smug.

“You’re welcome, gorgeous.”

Dean’s just about to roll away, to look at his watch – wherever that ended up – but all of a sudden Cas is on top of him, their lips pressed together in seconds, Cas’s tongue finding his with surprising ease. Dean doesn’t quite know what to make of this, but he goes along with it happily, drawing Cas close, winding his arms around the kid’s skinny waist, pressing their bare chests together.

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his lips, the word almost lost between their mouths, “Dean?”

“Uh huh?” Dean manages to respond, despite being somewhat distracted at present.

“Will you fuck me again?”

Well, Dean thinks somewhat deliriously, if he wasn’t sure already, now he’s certain that all of the blood in his body is currently located in his dick.

“Fuckin’ Hell, Cas, you can’t just…” Dean doesn’t know what the end of that sentence might have been, and he quickly decides it’s irrelevant because Cas is rolling his gorgeous, perfect ass and he just so happens to be sitting right on top of Dean’s erection. Dean clutches at him, gasping, and starts nodding frantically. “Yes, _yes_ I will do that. Get over there.”

Cas obeys immediately, rolling off him and laying back on the bed, an wild and eager expression in his eyes. He seems to think better of this pretty quickly however, and promptly moves again, with lightning speed, crawling towards where he tossed his suit jacket, and reaching into the inner pocket for the little tub of petroleum jelly he keeps in there.

Dean takes a sharp breath inwards, catching the tub deftly when Cas throws it to him. Cas just spreads out then, offering himself up to Dean, totally, and if that isn’t the hottest thing Dean can even fathom, then the sight of Cas getting hard again already definitely is.

He doesn’t hesitate. His dick feels like it’s about to burst, and he can’t even think about the idea of fucking Cas again, not really, not yet, or he’s sure he’ll come on the spot. He gets the lid of the tub off, scooping out a heft amount of the jelly, and moves forwards on his knees, settling between Cas’s open legs, meeting his gaze and smirking, trying to keep the illusion of control.

A flush covers Cas’s body starting from his cheeks, running down his throat, even his chest is pink. Dean longs to taste, to run his tongue over the heated skin, to feel that sensation, but he has work to do. His finger slips down, brushing over Cas’s balls, then dipping between the soft curve of his cheeks, finding that puckered entrance without trouble, and pressing firmly, watching as Cas’s eyes flutter.

“How’s that feel, angel?” Dean asks, surprised when his voice comes out as barely a murmur.

Cas nods frantically, his eyes desperate. “Good, Dean. Please, hurry…”

Well, Dean needs no more encouragement than that, so he pushes his finger forwards breaching the hole, sliding in easily, amazed as Cas opens for him, lets him in without resistance. He goes up to the knuckle, and Cas fidgets with impatience, hands starting to clutch at the blankets again, so Dean adds a second finger. This time Cas moans, the sound guttural and filthy, making Dean’s stomach flip, his heart pound. God, he can’t wait to get these pants off, to cover himself in this jelly, to…

He still doesn’t let himself think about it just yet.

Instead, he focuses on his task, letting himself enjoy Cas’s reactions, his pleas and cries, the sound of his gravel voice dragging over Dean’s name. Dean adds a third finger, and maybe he should have waited a little longer to do that, but he just can’t help himself when Cas is like this, when Cas so obviously _loves_ it, when he bites his lip and begs Dean with his eyes and words and body to just take him right there, no prep at all.

And it’s then, Cas’s eyes locked on his, that Dean can’t stand it. He pulls his fingers out, listening to Cas’s whimpers, each one pumping a little more precome out of his cock. Dean’s hands are frantic as they remove his own clothes, fumbling with them because he’s so eager, because he can’t fucking wait.

At last he’s free, as naked as Cas is, and he grabs the jelly, scooping out some more and slathering it onto himself, eyes rolling back in his head at how good it feels to have physical contact on the place he’s so desperate for it.

He moves into position fast, leaning over Cas, Dean’s face above him, and he lines up his dick with his target, heart still thrumming against his ribs. He catches sight of Cas’s expression, close up, just before he does what he really, really wants, and notes the look of adoration, of… reverence almost, on the kid’s face. It’s nonsensical, it shouldn’t be there, but it makes Dean’s heart skip a beat all the same.

He leans down quickly, pressing his lips to Cas’s, a reminder of that one, deep feeling he’s confessed to Cas twice now, a reminder of why he can do this with Cas, and no one else.

He slides into Cas like he’s coming home, pushing in slowly, though he’s sure he doesn’t need to. Cas is so open for him, so willing, swallowing every inch of him as though he were drawing him inside. It’s then that Dean remembers the heat, the pressure, the feeling of pure ecstasy at being inside of the person before him, and he moans, low, making Cas shiver.

He wishes he could say he was gentle, that he was careful even, but he’s not. He’s steady, and sure and a fucking mess too, and he just thrusts into Cas, chasing a feeling that lies in wait for him somewhere at the end. He changes his angle a few times, always listening out for the fractured little gasps and moans Cas is making as his dick pushes into him over and over, and then Cas cries out, loudly, clutching at Dean’s back, nails digging in.

“Fuck, Dean, oh fuck, right there. Fuck me there.” Cas babbles at him, and Dean does, aiming for that same spot, wondering vaguely what it feels like, and if he’ll ever get to find out.

Judging by Cas’s reaction, it must be pretty fucking good, because he’s shaking, moaning, hands sliding down his own chest until they grip his own cock, and pumping it in time with Dean’s movements. That is, until Dean slaps his hands away. He’ll do that thank you very much.

After that, it’s a bit of a blur. Dean starts to pick up the pace, getting lost in the sight of Cas just spread out so invitingly beneath him, of fucking him senseless until he seems unable to speak. Dean is really close, he can feel it, and this level of intensity is a little scary, because he genuinely doesn’t know how an orgasm as good as this one is likely to be is going to feel.

He keeps going, ploughing into Cas a little more roughly now, only because it looks as though Cas can take it, and he’s sure as Hell not complaining if he can’t. Cas comes first, body wracked with tremors that seem to last hours, though they can’t have really. He soaks Dean’s fist, along with his own stomach, and as he comes, he clenches around Dean, pulling him forwards, both of them freefalling into the high.

Dean’s orgasm is blinding and magnificent, singing through him like a bolt of lightning, setting every nerve on fire, drawing cries of ecstasy from him that sound a Hell of a lot like Cas’s name. He doesn’t know when he stops coming into Cas, or even when he stops moving, but after a while he finds himself laid out next to the kid, two huge fucking doe eyes blinking at him, blue as the fuckin’ ocean, as ever.

“Hey.” Dean manages, tentatively.

Cas smiles at him, looking a little exhausted, but otherwise pretty damn happy. “Okay there, stud?”

Dean chuckles softly, nodding. He shuffles closer to Cas, wrapping arms round him however he can and pulling him in.

“I’m so glad we get to do that now.” Dean says, very romantically he thinks, and Cas cracks up laughing in his arms.

You know, Dean thinks as he feels the laughter bubbling within him too, sometimes, just sometimes, life ain't so bad.


End file.
